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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618176">The Growing Pains of Howard Moon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/pseuds/A_Little_Boosh_Maid'>A_Little_Boosh_Maid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Diary of Howard Moon [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Adrian Mole Series - Sue Townsend, The Mighty Boosh (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1980s, Accidents, Angst, Babies, Bad Poetry, Band Fic, Blind Date, Boys In Love, British Politics, Cats, Character Death, Childbirth, Christmas, Diary/Journal, Disabled Character, Dogs, Family, Feminist Themes, Foster Care, Friendship, Halloween, High School, Historical References, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hospitals, Illness, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jealousy, LGBTQ Themes, Literary References &amp; Allusions, M/M, Mild animal abuse, New Year's Eve, Pregnancy, Prequel, Religion, Religious Cults, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Summer Holidays, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, mild drug references, mild sexual references</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:53:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>53,408</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/pseuds/A_Little_Boosh_Maid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard Moon is growing up in the early 1980s, but being Howard, the process of maturing is an an almost constantly painful one. Take in Howard's troubles, tragedies, torments, terrors and occasional triumphs as he tentatively navigates the treacherous waters of teenagerdom.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Howard Moon/Vince Noir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Diary of Howard Moon [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is the sequel to The Secret Diary of Howard Moon, Aged 13 and 2/3. In this one, also based on the Adrian Mole books, Howard has to go through some more grown-up problems as he gets older.</p><p>If you haven't read the first one it doesn't matter a lot, although this story does refer to earlier events from time to time. The most important thing to realise is that this Howard and Vince are the teenaged versions of the Howard and Vince we see in Series 1 who open the show in front of the curtain – the real people, not the characters they created for themselves based on their real lives.</p><p>HOWARD'S FAMILY</p><p><strong>Howard Moon:</strong> A Leeds schoolboy who considers himself both an intellectual and a loner by nature. He would like to become the world's greatest slap-bass jazz-funk guitarist, and a published poet. When the story opens, he is four months off his 15th birthday.</p><p><strong>George and Pauline Moon:</strong> Howard's parents. George teaches Geography at his school, while Pauline is a feminist activist currently expecting their second child.</p><p><strong>The Dog:</strong> Howard's pet dog. A fluffy golden-brown mongrel, aged 11.</p><p><strong>Grandpa (Bert) and Nana (Edna) Moon:</strong> Howard's paternal grandparents. They live half an hour away in Wakefield, and in their own quiet way, dote on Howard.</p><p><strong>Susan Moon:</strong> George's sister and Howard's aunt. She is a prison warder at Holloway Women's Prison in London, and a lesbian.</p><p><strong>Cedric Moon:</strong> George and Susan's younger brother, and Howard's uncle. He died in 1977, when Howard was ten; Howard was told he was killed in a railway accident. Later on, Howard discovered that the official ruling had been suicide, but that the Moon family believed Cedric had been the victim of a gay hate crime, possibly misunderstood or covered up by the authorities.</p><p><strong>Granddad and Grandma Sugden:</strong> Howard's maternal grandparents. They are from rural Suffolk and are Christians of the traditional God-fearing variety. They only visit at Christmas, which is an ordeal for everyone.</p><p><strong>Terry, Marcia, and Maurice Sugden:</strong> Howard's maternal uncle, aunt, and cousin. Uncle Terry works at Luton airport. Only visit at Christmas.</p><p>HOWARD'S FRIENDS</p><p><strong>Vince Noir:</strong> Howard's boyfriend of six months, having come to live in Leeds a year ago after growing up in the jungles of India with his foster-father Bryan. Good-looking and cheerful, excels at art and sport. Howard makes an adoring but insecure boyfriend.</p><p><strong>Leroy:</strong> Howard's best friend. Howard considers Leroy more fortunate, and has a one-sided rivalry with him (in which Howard is always the loser, in his eyes).</p><p><strong>Bollo Thomas:</strong> The leader of their gang. A huge gorilla of a boy, very protective of Vince.</p><p><strong>Claire Neilson “Neon” and Julie Trafford “Ultra”:</strong> Best friends with each other, and the female members of the gang. They like to consider themselves tough punks.</p><p><strong>Lester Corncrake:</strong> A very old blind man that Howard was assigned to for a school volunteer project and remained friends with. A Beatnik who came to Britain from the US in the 1950s, and shares Howard's interest in jazz music.</p><p><strong>Sabre:</strong> Lester's supposed seeing-eye dog; in actuality, a vicious-looking Alsatian who is almost completely untrained.</p><p><strong>Maud “Queenie” Pelham:</strong> Vince's foster mother. An elderly woman who is a member of the Communist Party, and recently became engaged to Lester.</p><p><strong>Ginger:</strong> Queenie's cat. Just had three kittens, one of which Vince named Howard.</p><p><strong>Bob Fossil:</strong> The American leader of the local youth club. He and his girlfriend Eleanor appear to take an unhealthy interest in Howard.</p><p><strong>Terry Wogan:</strong> The famous radio host. Howard continues to send him his poems, in the hopes that the BBC will one day broadcast them, despite minimal encouragement.</p><p><strong>Jack Kodiak:</strong> An American boy, originally from Alaska and now in New York, who Howard made friends with on holiday, and remains pen-pals with. His father was supposedly taken by a yeti, and his stepfathers have all suffered mysterious fates.</p><p>HOWARD'S NEIGHBOURS</p><p><strong>The Singh Family:</strong> Live across the street, and have several small children. Good friends with Lester, who speaks fluent Hindi.</p><p><strong>The O'Leary Family:</strong> Live next door to the Singhs. They have two young adult children named Sean and Kathleen.</p><p>HOWARD'S ENEMIES</p><p><strong>Barry Kent:</strong> Bullied Howard and blackmailed him for having a crush on Vince.</p><p><strong>Dixon Bainbridge:</strong> School headmaster.</p><p><strong>The Man Council:</strong> A dodgy-sounding group for men to contribute to their community. Howard's dad joined it at a low point in his life. Led by Dennis, whose young son Kirk is seemingly always being babysat by Saboo (otherwise why else are they constantly together?).</p><p><strong>Margaret Thatcher:</strong> Keeps on ruining everyone's lives.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. January 1982</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A new year begins with dismal omens. Changes are afoot, and Howard succumbs to academic stress, while even Vince suffers anxiety about the future.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 1st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>New Year's Day. Bank Holiday in UK and Republic of Ireland</em>
</p><p>These are my New Year Resolutions:</p><p>1. I will remain true to Vince.<br/>2. I will bring my bike in at night.<br/>3. I will only read worthwhile literature.<br/>4. I will study hard for my O Levels, and get Grade As<br/>5. I will try to be more kind to the dog.<br/>6. I will find it in my heart to forgive Barry Kent for bullying me.<br/>7. I will clean the bath after use.<br/>8. I will stop measuring my thing.<br/>9. I will do my jazz exercises every night without fail.<br/>10. I will be a good brother to my sibling when it is born.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 2nd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Bank Holiday in Scotland</em>
</p><p>Vince came round today. Because of the snow, I walk round to collect him, and then I escort him home. Vince says that isn't necessary, but I wouldn't want him to get splattered by muddy snow. If necessary, I would take off my coat for Vince to walk on, like that bloke did for Queen Elizabeth I. I would get in a terrible row with my parents though.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 3rd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Second after Christmas. Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>Last night I dreamed about a boy like me collecting pebbles in the rain. It was a dead strange dream.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 4th</strong>
</p><p>Mum took me shopping for new clothes. I wanted to buy green Wellington boots in Marks and Spencer, but Mum bought me plain black ones instead. I need them for escorting Vince home, as the snow keeps melting and getting dirty.</p><p>In Mothercare my mother went mad buying miniature clothes and stretch-mark cream. I hoped she would buy a nice respectable maternity dress for the dreaded day when her lump starts to show, but she informed me she intended to keep wearing her dungarees throughout her pregnancy. I will be a laughing stock at school.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 5th</strong>
</p><p>I keep having nightmares about the bomb. I hope it isn't dropped before I get my CSE results in August 1983. I wouldn't like to die an unqualified virgin.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 6th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Epiphany</em>
</p><p>Leroy came round to look at my racing bike. He says that it was mass produced, unlike his bike that was made by a craftsman in Harrogate. I have gone off Leroy, and I have also gone off my bike a bit.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 7th</strong>
</p><p>Got a wedding invitation from Lester and Queenie. They are getting married on January 16th at the town hall.</p><p>In my opinion, it is a waste of time. Lester is ninety, and Queenie nearly eighty. I think Vince is worried about having Lester as a step-foster father, and I'm sure Sabre will bother Ginger and her kittens. Their eyes are open now, and they don't want to see a giant Alsatian with huge teeth.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 8th</strong>
</p><p>My parents said it is my turn to cook the tea, and my mother shouldn't be doing all the cooking when she is pregnant. I made poached and eggs and beans, and tinned semolina pudding. They didn't think that was a nutritious meal, even though everyone knows eggs have all the vitamins you need except Vitamin C, and beans have Vitamin C from the tomato sauce.</p><p>The centre of York is flooded. I hope it doesn't flood here. I am not a strong swimmer.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 9th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Full Moon</em>
</p><p>Nana and Grandpa came round this afternoon. Everything started off well – they brought my mother flowers, and fussed over her. But Nana ended up having a row with Dad, saying that he drank too much at Christmas. Luckily she doesn't know about New Year.</p><p>Leroy says the world is going to end tonight, because there's a total eclipse of the moon. He said he read it in one of his aunt's religious magazines. True enough, it did go dark, and I held my breath and feared the worst, but then the moon recovered and life went on as usual.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 10th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>First after Epiphany</em>
</p><p>It has started snowing again. Vince usually wants to have a snowball fight on the way home, even though it's very undignified. Vince says it's not undignified for him, because he always wins.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 11th</strong>
</p><p>I've been looking through last year's diary and have been reminded that <em>Critic's Forum</em> never did reply to my letter asking what to do if you are an intellectual. That is a first-class stamp wasted! I should have written to the British Museum. That's where all the intellectuals hang out.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 12th</strong>
</p><p>My mother's lump started showing today, but she is doing nothing to disguise it. In fact, she seems quite proud of it. She is showing it to everyone who comes to the house. I have to leave the room.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 13th</strong>
</p><p>Vince and I went to the youth club tonight. It was quite good. Bob Fossil led a discussion on sex. Nobody said anything, but he showed some interesting slides of the male reproductive system. By the end of the night, I was an expert on my prostate gland. This is bound to be useful knowledge one day. It gave Vince and I a lot to talk about on the walk home, and we both agreed that we should explore the subject further when we have time, and enough privacy.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 14th</strong>
</p><p>Went through the dictionary to look for words I don't know, and made a list of them. <em>Abstemious</em>, <em>chicanery</em>, <em>chimerical</em>, <em>deleterious</em>, <em>enervate</em>, <em>fiduciary</em>, <em>lugubrious</em>, <em>pecuniary</em>, <em>sanguine</em>, <em>serendipity</em>,<em> tumescent</em>, <em>winnow</em>,<em> ziggurat</em>. I will try to include them in my everyday conversation, although right now I can't see a way of doing so naturally.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 15th</strong>
</p><p>Thank God the snow is melting! At last I can walk the streets in safety, secure in the knowledge that Vince isn't going to ram a snowball down the back of my anorak.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 16th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>Lester and Queenie got married today.</p><p>The Sunshine Lane Residential Care Facility hired a coach, and took the old ladies to form a guard of honour with their walking frames.</p><p>Lester looked dead good. He cashed in his life insurance and spent the money on a new grey suit. Queenie was wearing a matching orange jacket and skirt with a big hat covered in flowers and fruit. She had a lot of make-up on to cover her wrinkles. Even Sabre had a red ribbon tied around his neck in a bow. I think it was kind of the RSPCA to let Sabre out for his master's wedding.</p><p>My father and I carried Lester's wheelchair up the steps of the town hall a single man, and then down them again with Lester a married man. The old ladies threw rice and confetti, and my mother and Vince gave Queenie a kiss and a lucky horseshoe.</p><p>A newspaper reporter and photographer made everyone pose for photographs. I was asked my name, but I said I didn't want publicity for my acts of charity to Lester.</p><p>The reception was back at the home. Matron made a big cake with L and Q written on it with Jellytots.</p><p>Vince is staying with Leroy for the weekend, so Lester and Queenie can have their honeymoon alone at Queenie's house. On Monday, they all have to live together. Even Sabre and the cats!</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 17th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Second after Epiphany</em>
</p><p>I am reading <em>Nausea</em> by Jean-Paul Sartre. I can't really understand it very well, even though it is in diary form. It is mostly about a bloke whose chairs are taking over his house and his brain. It makes my diary seem dead common and unintellectual, as our furniture just sits there and we don't even think about it very much. My ambition is now to actually enjoy reading the book. Then I will know I am above the common herd.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 18th</strong>
</p><p>School. First day of term. Loads of CSE homework. I will never cope. Even though I am an intellectual, I am not really very clever. I think I might be developing angst.</p><p>Vince says Lester smells funny. He has to keep Sabre away from the kittens in case there is an unfortunate incident. He says that's why he can't do his homework.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 19th</strong>
</p><p>Brought all the leftover copies of my magazine <em>New Voices</em> home in my satchel and Adidas bag. Mr Jones needs the Games cupboard.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 20th</strong>
</p><p>Two and a half hours of homework! I will crack under the strain. I can feel reality slipping away from me, as if my mind was filled with deleterious smoke.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 21st</strong>
</p><p>My brain hurts. I have just finished translating two pages of <em>Macbeth</em> into English. I have stared so long at the page that all the words spin slowly before me until they become empty and meaningless.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 22nd</strong>
</p><p>I am destined to be a failure. I can't keep working under this pressure. Dad said my work is perfectly satisfactory, but that isn't good enough when Leroy gets <em>Excellent</em> written in red pen on his paper.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 23rd</strong>
</p><p>Stayed in bed until five-thirty in the afternoon to make sure I missed shopping at Budgens. Listened to a program on post-war fiction on Radio Four. Phoned Vince. Did Geography homework. Teased dog. Went to sleep. Woke up. Worried for ten minutes. Got up. Made cocoa.</p><p>I am a nervous wreck. I am beginning to think it might be my desk and chair. Their very essence mocks at me.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 24th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Third after Epiphany</em>
</p><p>My mother blames my bad nerves on Jean-Paul Sartre. She says French existentialism shouldn't be read about when one is studying for O Levels.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 25th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Burns Night (Scotland). New Moon</em>
</p><p>Social Services called in to check on Queenie and Vince, and discovered Lester living there. They told Queenie off for not informing them she was cohabiting, and she snapped, “I'm not cohabiting – I'm married!”.</p><p>They are coming back tomorrow for a full investigation and assessment. I told Vince he can live with us if Social Services make him leave Queenie's.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 26th</strong>
</p><p>The social worker spent two hours interviewing Vince, Queenie, and Lester. She said Vince will have to be allocated to another foster family, as Lester's age and disabilities mean that Queenie can't care for him and Vince at the same time. Vince told me that Queenie wept, and said she was doing the best that she could. The social worker said that she could see that Queenie genuinely loved Vince, but “Mrs Corncrake, I'm afraid love is not always enough in these situations”.</p><p>Vince is dead scared. He is worried that Social Services will put him in a care home, or take him away from Leeds. Queenie was just meant to be a temporary foster mother while they found something more permanent. I can't lose Vince – he's the only thing keeping me sane.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 27th</strong>
</p><p>My mother is holding her women’s rights meeting in our lounge. I can’t concentrate on my homework properly with women laughing and shouting and stamping up the stairs. They are not a bit ladylike.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 28th</strong>
</p><p>I got 17/20 on the History test. I knew the women's rights meeting was going to ruin my chances! How was I meant to concentrate on the Second World War with all that row going on?</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 29th</strong>
</p><p>Came home from school early with a severe migraine (missed the Comparative Religion test). Went to bed.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 30th</strong>
</p><p>Migraine. Too ill to write.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 31st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Fourth after Epiphany</em>
</p><p>Vince came around while my parents were out. When I said faintly that I wasn't feeling well, he crawled into bed with me for half an hour, until he released the pressure building up inside me. Feel a lot better now. Someone should have told Jean-Paul Sartre about it.</p><p>Thought of a sentence in which I could use <em>tumescent</em>. It's a bit personal though.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The incredible illustration of Howard and Vince was created for me by amazing artist @feralmurphy. You can see and commission more of their work on Tumblr and Instagram.</p><p>According to legend, it was a young Sir Walter Raleigh who put his velvet cloak over a puddle so that Queen Elizabeth I could walk on it.</p><p>A dream dictionary tells me that Howard's rainy dream is indicative of mild depression, and that the pebbles he collects are small problems and worries that he continues to look for in life.</p><p>Howard and his mother must be shopping at the Bond Street Centre, which today is Trinity Leeds. It had both a Marks &amp; Spencer and a Mothercare. Marks &amp; Spencer is a department store which originated in Leeds. </p><p>Because of the arms race and nuclear testing, the early 1980s were noteworthy for a well-organised, broad-based anti-nuclear protest movement, whose members came from all walks of life. The constant calls to “ban the bomb”, along with a slew of earnest and well-informed anti-nuclear pamphlets and posters, had the effect of giving people, especially teens and young adults, the feeling that nuclear war would happen any day. Howard isn't unusual in feeling worried about it. </p><p>Howard considers himself a virgin, even though he and Vince do have some sexual contact with each other. He probably believes that he is a virgin until penetration takes place. </p><p>The city of York, which has the Rivers Ouse and Foss running through it, floods when the rivers burst their banks during heavy rain. The flood of 1982 was one of the worst to this date. All weather and natural phenomena are broadly accurate.  </p><p>There were several predictions of the end of the world taking place in the early 1980s, from such diverse sources as evangelical Christianity, New Age spirituality, astrophysicists, and the Baha'i movement. There were no fewer than four major predictions of the world ending in 1982, and although Leroy's prediction doesn't match any of them, my hunch is that it would have encouraged other (more local?) crackpots to come forward with their own predictions.</p><p>Howard reads “Nausea” by Jean-Paul Sartre  (1938), an existentialist novel exploring the effect of inanimate objects on the protagonist's mental state, which is cured by jazz, and “Macbeth” by William Shakespeare (1606). </p><p>The radio program Howard listened to was “Novels Up to Now” at 5 pm on Radio 4. This episode looked at “The Go-Between” by L.P. Hartley, “The Albatross” by Susan Hill, “The Collector” by John Fowles, and “Lord of the Flies” by William Golding – novels where the protagonist is trapped by a particular situation beyond their control. It probably didn't help Howard's nerves.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. February 1982</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Howard struggles with worry about schoolwork, and jealousy in his relationship with Vince, while receiving a political awakening.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Monday 1st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>Vince phoned this evening to say his social worker had been round again. She has found a place for him in this part of Leeds - “so your schooling and social life won't be disrupted”. We are all so relieved. Even Queenie said at least Vince will still be able to visit. Vince will be living with Mr and Mrs Braithwaite, who don't have any children, so he isn't being put in a care home either. Went to bed feeling extra glad Vince is staying.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday February 2nd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Candlemas (Scottish Quarter Day)</em>
</p><p>Nana and Grandpa came to tea. They said that the end of the world was announced last week at their church. It should have happened yesterday. They would have come over sooner, but Nana had to wash the curtains.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 3rd</strong>
</p><p>My mother is looking for a job. She said being pregnant is not going to hold her back or stop her from being independent. I have a strange sense of <em>deja vu</em>.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 4th</strong>
</p><p>Went round to Vince's to help him pack. He has the cats in his room to protect them from Sabre. The kittens are quite big now, and very playful. I think Howard, the big silver-grey kitten, has a grumpy face.</p><p>Queenie had red eyes, but kept up a stream of determinedly cheerful chatter while she made the tea. Lester said Vince had been born under a wandering star, and it was his fate to go from one place to another. I hope one day Vince will be able to settle down and find a home where he can live forever. I wish that home could be with me. </p><p>
  <strong>Friday 5th</strong>
</p><p>I’ve got to write an essay on the causes of the Second World War. What a waste of time! Everyone knows the causes. You can’t go anywhere without hearing about Hitler.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 6th</strong>
</p><p>Finished essay. Copied it out of <em>Pear's Cyclopaedia</em>.</p><p>My mother has gone to a workshop on self-defence for women. When my father moans at her for burning the toast, she will be able to karate-chop him in the windpipe.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 7th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Third Before Ash Wednesday</em>
</p><p>Dad drove Vince to his new home. I came too, to help carry things. The Braithwaites live on the posh side of our suburb, at 6 Park Grove. It is only a little bit further away from us than Queenie's. They live in a big house with bay windows, a box hedge, and a gravel driveway. There's a lilac tree on the front lawn and lots of shrubs.</p><p>The Braithwaites said how lovely to meet us, and asked us all in. Mr Braithwaite helped with the luggage. Mrs Braithwaite made coffee from a machine, and put out a plate of rye health biscuits. They said to call them Ivan and Tania (which sounds Russian, but they're not, unless they are secret agents faking English accents).</p><p>We all sat in a big glass room with a tiled floor, and it was boiling warm, even in February. There were potted plants everywhere. Mrs Braithwaite (Tania) is a marriage guidance counsellor. Mr Braithwaite (Ivan) said he was a milkman, and Vince looked excited and asked if he could have a ride in the milk float. He was joking though – Mr Braithwaite is really an accountant at the dairy. Mr Braithwaite is Vice-Chairperson of the local Labour Party, and Mrs Braithwaite is in the SDP. But they said their differing political views would not affect Vince in any way.</p><p>Vince confessed he had brought Ginger and her kittens with him, but the Braithwaites were quick to assure him they loved cats. “We planned to get a cat”, said Mrs Braithwaite, stroking Ginger. “We'll help you find good homes for the kittens when they're old enough”, Mr Braithwaite said, letting the kittens play on his lap. It was agreed the cats would spend most of their time in the sun room, and Ginger's basket was put in one corner.</p><p>The Braithwaites showed Vince his bedroom, and said he could have it decorated any way he liked. His bedroom is twice the size of mine. Vince said he liked football, but he also liked fashion and make-up, so he wasn't sure quite how to decorate the bedroom.</p><p>Mr Braithwaite looked surprised, but he said, “I always wanted a daughter I could play football with”, and Mrs Braithwaite smiled, and said, “I always dreamed of having a son I could dress up and make pretty”.</p><p>On the way home, Dad said, “Vince has fallen on his feet there”, and I'm inclined to agree. He is going to live in the lap of luxury, while I stew in the slums. He'll soon get sick of me and my plebeian origins.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 8th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Full Moon</em>
</p><p>My mother has found a job. She collects money from Space Invader machines. She started today in response to an urgent phone call she received from the job agency she is registered with. She said that the fullest machines are in unrespectable cafes and university common rooms.</p><p>I think my mother is betraying her principles. She is a cog in a corporate wheel which takes advantage of addicts.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 9th</strong>
</p><p>My mother has given up her job. She said she is sexually harassed during her work. I asked why she couldn't karate-chop them with her self-defence abilities, but she said she would probably kill them, and then she'd be the one going to prison. She says it's the fault of the patriarchy. Also, she thinks she might be allergic to coins. Her hands have gone a funny colour since she got the job. </p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 10th</strong>
</p><p>We left for the Geography camp today, as school trips are allowed again. But we're not in Matlock, we're in Ramsgill. Mr Bainbridge said we won't be leaving Yorkshire again during school time as long as he is headmaster, because of what happened at the British Museum last year. Typical of his small-minded provincial attitude.</p><p>We are staying at a hostel in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest village. This is so we can't get into any trouble. We're being treated like schoolchildren! Last year's fourth year Geography students at least got to go shopping and into cafes in town during free time. I wanted to see the castle, and take Vince down Lover's Walk.</p><p>So far all we have done is go to Brinham Rocks. We have to write a paper on millstone grit, and heard about how the stones were once thought to be made by Druids. We spent a long time out in the cold, and after tea Dad gave a lecture on crustal plate movement. We had to take notes, as there will be a test on it later.</p><p>The worst part is that we weren't allowed to choose our own rooms. Dad put me in with Leroy, and Vince is sharing with Bollo. I complained to Dad, but he said he wouldn't be doing his duty as either a father or a teacher if he let Vince and I share a room, and could I please keep my voice down.</p><p>Bored. Cold. Angry at father and life.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 11th</strong>
</p><p>This morning we saw an old lead mine, so we probably all have lead poisoning now. I will have to check what the symptoms are in our medical dictionary when we get home. Vince nearly fell in the reservoir, but Bollo caught him in time. I wish it had been me who rescued him, it would have been more romantic.</p><p>In the afternoon we went to How Stean Gorge to see the limestone caves. We looked for fossils, and learned more about mill grit and how great it is. On the way home, Dad took pity on us, and let us visit the oldest sweet shop in the world. Everyone cheered up except me. Vince asked why I was in a bad mood, but it was too difficult to explain. We all ate our sweets on the coach ride home.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 12th</strong>
</p><p>Vince has gone to a private football coaching academy at Elland Road for the day. Ivan took him. It costs a lot of money, but Vince's foster parents say that his gifts should be encouraged.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 13th</strong>
</p><p>Vince has a crush on an older boy named Craig Smith he met at the football academy. Craig is seventeen and captain of the grammar school's football team. He says Vince is very talented, and could play professionally with the right training. Vince says older men are exciting.</p><p>I am trying to grow a moustache.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 14th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Second before Lent. St Valentine's Day</em>
</p><p>At last I have had a valentine from someone who isn't a blood relation!</p><p>Vince's card was charming. He painted it himself, a watercolour of the two of us walking hand in hand through a meadow of filled with daisies. Inside he had written, <em>Howard, I love you, and only you. All my heart, Vince xxx</em></p><p>I gave Vince a mock-Victorian card covered in hearts and roses. Inside I wrote:</p><p>
  <em>My sweet love,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Honey hair and football kit</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Make me suddenly lose my wits</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Your thighs give me vertigo</em>
  <br/>
  <em>I am Zorro, you're Tornado</em>
</p><p>It doesn't scan very well, but I was in a hurry. Vince didn't get the literary reference, so I have lent him some of my father's old <em>Zorro</em> annuals.</p><p>My parents didn't give each other cards this year, and my father went to the pub.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 15th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Washington's Birthday, USA. Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>I can't stand all this emotional stress, doing masses of homework every night while vying with Craig Smith for Vince's attention.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 16th</strong>
</p><p>I am seriously thinking of giving everything up and running away to be a tramp. I would quite enjoy the life, providing I could have a daily bath.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 17th</strong>
</p><p>My father is away for the rest of the week, attending a conference in Bradford organised by The Man Council. It is on leadership skills and group management, or as Dad calls it, “man business”. He said when he gets back, we are going to notice a whole new George Moon.</p><p>The supply teacher, Miss Elf, is taking us for Geography again while Dad is absent. Miss Elf told us about her boyfriend today. He is a West Indian named Winston Johnson. He is a Master of Arts and can't get a job! So what chance do I stand?</p><p>Miss Elf said that school-leavers are despairing all over the country. She said that Mr Bainbridge should be ashamed to have a portrait of Mrs Thatcher over his desk.</p><p>I think I am turning radical.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 18th</strong>
</p><p>This morning the whole school was ordered to go to the assembly hall. Mr Bainbridge got up on the stage and acted like the films of Hitler. He said in all his long years of teaching he had never come across an act of such serious vandalism. Everybody went dead quiet and wondered what had happened. Bainbridge said that somebody had entered his office and drawn a moustache on Margaret Thatcher and written <em>Three million unemployed</em> in her cleavage.</p><p>He said that defiling the greatest leader this country has ever known was a crime against humanity. It was tantamount to treason, and that when the culprit was found they would be immediately expelled. Bainbridge's red cheeks wobbled so much that a few of the first-years started to cry. Miss Elf led them outside to safety.</p><p>The whole school has got to have handwriting tests.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 19th</strong>
</p><p>Miss Elf has resigned. Now there are three million and one unemployed. I will miss her, and regret that I did not appreciate her earlier. She was responsible for my political development. I am a committed radical. I am against nearly everything.</p><p>Dad came home from the conference looking tired and unwell. He said it was very intensive, and he will need a few days to unwind and process everything.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 20th</strong>
</p><p>Vince, Leroy, Bollo, Claire, Julie, and myself have formed a political group, dedicated to the principles Miss Elf taught us. We are called The Young Radicals. We discuss things like war (we are against it), peace (we are for it), and the ultimate destruction of capitalist society.</p><p>Claire's father is a capitalist. He owns a greengrocer's shop. Claire is trying to get her father to give cheap food to the unwaged, but he refuses. He waxes fat on their starvation!</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 21st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>First before Lent</em>
</p><p>There is now no disguising the fact that my mother is pregnant. She sticks right out at the front and walks in a very peculiar manner. She finds it a bit difficult to bend down. I spend half my time picking things up for her.</p><p>Her dungarees are too tight for her, so I am hoping that she will buy a pretty flowery maternity dress. Princess Diana looks lovely during her own pregnancy. One of those big white collars would really suit my mother. Also, it would distract attention from her wrinkly neck.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 22nd</strong>
</p><p>I am racked with sexual frustration, and wish Vince and I could be together. Urgently. But he is out at the Amateur Football Club, practising with Craig Smith. Craig Smith lives in Park Avenue, the next street to Park Grove. He says he can help improve Vince's ball skills. I think Vince is quite skilled enough.</p><p>It's funny, but the more jealous I feel, the stronger my sexual urges get. I will have to fall back on self-abuse.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 23rd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Shrove Tuesday. New Moon</em>
</p><p>Ate nine pancakes at home, three at Vince's, and four at Lester and Queenie's. Nana was very hurt when I refused her kind offer to whip me up a batter for tea, but I was full.</p><p>It is disgusting when the Third World is surviving on a few grains of rice. I feel dead guilty.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 24th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Ash Wednesday</em>
</p><p>Our school dinner-ladies have got the sack! The dinners now come in hot boxes from a central kitchen. I would have staged a protest, but I have a Geography test tomorrow.</p><p>Mrs Leech was presented with a microwave oven for her thirty years of toil over the custard jug.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 25th</strong>
</p><p>Got sixteen out of twenty on the Geography test. I lost points for saying that the Falkland Islands belong to Argentina.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 26th</strong>
</p><p>Dad and I took Mum to the antenatal clinic after school. We waited for two hours in a room full of red-faced pregnant women. My mother had forgotten to bring a sample of urine from home, so a nurse gave her a shiny oven tray and told her to, “Squeeze a few drops out for us, dear.”</p><p>My mother had only just been to the loo so she took ages and ended up missing her place in the weighing queue. By the time her blood pressure was taken my mother was in a state of hypertension. She said the doctor warned her about doing too much, and told her to relax more.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 27th</strong>
</p><p>My thing is now seventeen centimetres when it is extended. When it is contracted, it is barely worth measuring. My general physique is improving. I think the regular jazz exercises are paying off. I used to be the sort of scrawny boy who had sand kicked in his face. Now I am the sort of lanky boy who watches somebody else have sand kicked in his face.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 28th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>First in Lent</em>
</p><p>The doctors said Mum was doing too much, so Dad cooked the Sunday dinner and I did the washing up. We had egg and chips with peas, and tinned rice pudding with tinned apricots. I feel ashamed at how easily we have allowed Mum to do nearly everything around the house, even though she is pregnant. We both vowed to do more to help, so Mum can relax.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>“Pear's Cyclopaedia” was a one-volume encyclopedia published by Pear's soap company. The first edition was 1897, and it was published annually from 1953 until 2017, the last edition. A uniquely British almanac and gazetteer with general information on a variety of subjects.</p><p>The Braithwaites' home is a composite of several houses in affluent areas of Leeds. Ivan and Tania's higher status can be seen in their having a coffee machine (still quite unusual in the UK), a conservatory or sun room, large bedrooms, and really good central heating. </p><p>The SDP was the Social Democratic Party, formed in 1981 from a breakaway group from the right-wing of the Labour Party. Ideologically, they were social liberals with a centrist position – not terrifically different from the Labour Party, who are democratic socialists with a centre-left position. Tania's politics are possibly slightly more conservative than her husband's, but they are both clearly in the liberal mainstream.</p><p>The Geography camp is in Ramsgill, a small village in Nidderdale, one of the Yorkshire Dales, but not in the Yorkshire Dales National Park. Nidderdale is famous for its interesting geological formations, and is a popular place to take school groups. It's about an hour north of Leeds. The Oldest Sweet Shop in the World is in the nearby village of Pately Bridge, trading continuously since 1827.  </p><p>Elland Road is the home of Leeds United Football Club. They really do hold academies to train promising young players. </p><p>Tornado is Zorro's horse – not the most subtle hint from Howard as to what he'd like to do with Vince. There were a number of Zorro annuals published by Disney in the 1950s, and I'm guessing Howard's dad owned a few. </p><p>On 26 January 1982, the number of unemployed people in the UK reached three million – the first time it had happened since the 1930s. That meant one in eight were out of work, and 32 people were chasing each job vacancy. Mass unemployment was a feature of the 1970s and 1980s, when the unemployed became known as “Maggie's millions”. Miss Elf is not exaggerating when she says school-leavers are despairing; youth unemployment was particularly bad, and was blamed whenever there were sporadic outbursts of violence among the young. </p><p>Princess Diana wore some very attractive outfits during her pregnancy, many of them with large floppy collars. Of course, she had a public role to fulfil, and a much bigger clothing budget than Howard's mother. </p><p>The Yorkshire Amateur Football Club is in Chapel Allerton, Leeds. Possibly the first hint which part of Leeds the story takes place in. Leeds Grammar School is a private school founded in 1552, about 3 miles from this area. At the time, it was a school for boys only. The poet Tony Harrison is a famous alumnus (!!).</p><p>The end of dinner ladies in schools was just another nail in the coffin of nutritious school meals in the UK for many years.  </p><p>The Falkland Islands are a British overseas territory off the coast of Argentina, and the population is overall ethnically British – mostly descended from Scottish and Welsh immigrants, with a traditional British culture. However, Argentina claims the Falklands, which it calls Islas Malvinas, was granted to it in 1816 by Spain when it became independent. The dispute was just about to get nasty in 1982.     </p><p>Howard references the old Charles Atlas advertisements, which show a weedy man getting sand kicked in his face by a bully at the beach, before he buys the Charles Atlas fitness kit, and is soon a muscled hunk that nobody dare mess with. Howard can't see himself as the muscled hunk or the big  bully, but can at least identify with the average looking men who watch the skinny guy get humiliated.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. March 1982</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Howard has a spiritual epiphany, and gives in to temptation.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Monday 1st</strong><br/>
<em>St David's Day</em>
</p><p>My mother and father had their first row since Mum came back home. Dad did some hoovering when he got home from work, only Mum had just managed to get to sleep after feeling tired and unwell all day, and he woke her up.</p><p>Dad made tea and I washed up afterwards to give Mum a break. We had ham and cheese toasties.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 2nd</strong><br/>
<em>Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>Dad said he would like to do something to give back to the community. When he joined The Man Council, he pledged himself to contribute to his neighbourhood as if it was his family. Mum pointed out that he already teaches Geography at the local school. And I said he has an actual family that need him.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 3rd</strong>
</p><p>Dad has been to a meeting of The Man Council. They think that with his background in teaching, he would benefit from being put in charge of a volunteer work program for disaffected youth.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 4th</strong>
</p><p>After a lot of talking, Mum agreed that Dad deserved to do something for himself, just as she is running a women's rights group in the community. She said that if we don't contribute to the outside world, then we are not really part of society. When I thought about it I realised my mother is right, and that's why I am a Young Radical.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 5th</strong>
</p><p>The Man Council has given my father the task of supervising a gang of school-leavers to renovate the beck. To celebrate, he bought Mum a bunch of flowers, and I got a family-sized pack of Mars Bars.</p><p>Everyone is dead happy for once. Even the dog seems more cheerful. Nana is knitting my father a woolly hat for his volunteer job.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 6th</strong>
</p><p>Vince and I went for a walk to see the bit of the beck that my father is now responsible for. If he works for a thousand years he will never get it clear of all the bikes, old prams, weeds, and Coke cans. I told my father he had been given an impossible task, but he said, "On the contrary. In a year's time, it will be a beauty spot". Yes! And I am Nancy Reagan, Dad!</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 7th</strong><br/>
<em>Second in Lent</em>
</p><p>My father went to see the beck this morning. He came home and shut himself in my parents' bedroom. He is still there. I can hear my mother talking to him in an encouraging voice.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 8th</strong>
</p><p>After school I walked along the beck. I found Dad bossing a gang of punks and skinheads about. They looked surly and uncooperative. None of them wanted to get their clothes or shoes dirty. My father seemed to be the only one doing any actual work. He was covered in mud. I attempted to exchange a few civilities with the lads, but they spurned my overtures. They have been alienated by a cruel, uncaring society, so I didn't take it personally.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 9th</strong><br/>
<em>Full Moon</em>
</p><p>My schoolwork is plummeting to new depths. I only got twelve out of twenty on the English test. I got homophones confused with homonyms.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 10th</strong>
</p><p>My father has asked me not to bring Vince to the beck after school. He says Vince confuses the lads, and half of them become aggressive and shout things about “little poofs”, and the other half become aggressive because they think Vince is beautiful and then can't cope. Either way, they become impossible to manage.</p><p>I don't think Vince should have to avoid them because of their repressed neuroses, but I don't want to make Dad's life worse. And I don't want to put Vince in danger just to make a point (remembering what might have happened to Uncle Cedric).</p><p>It's true that Vince is very beautiful. Sometimes I wonder what he sees in me. I live in daily terror of our relationship ending when he realises what a mistake he's made.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 11th</strong>
</p><p>Tania Braithwaite has joined my mother's women's group. No men or boys are allowed in the front room. My father is in charge of the creche in the dining room.</p><p>Bob Fossil's baby daughter Herod was crawling under the table, screaming “El! El!”. Dad thought she was saying <em>Hell</em>, <em>hell</em>. I explained to Dad that Eleanor is the name of Herod's mother – she calls her parents Bob and El, not Mummy and Daddy. Herod is a very radical baby who doesn't eat sweets and stays up until 2 am.</p><p>My father said it is easier to manage punks and skinheads than radical babies.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 12th</strong>
</p><p>My father had a good day on the beck. He is almost through to the grass now. To celebrate, he brought the punks and skinheads round to our house for a glass of beer. My mother and Mrs Singh looked shocked when the lads trooped into our kitchen, but my father introduced Baz, Daz, Gaz, Kev, Jez, and Tez, and my mother and Mrs Singh relaxed a bit.</p><p>Tez is going to help me fix the brakes on my bike, he is an expert bike-fixer. He has been stealing them since he was six. Tez offered me a sniff of his glue stick, but I declined with thanks.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 13th</strong>
</p><p>Ginger's kittens have gone to new homes. Vince asked if I would like to keep Howard (the kitten), but my parents said I can't have any more pets when we're already getting a baby.</p><p>I didn't think anyone would take Howard (the kitten), but a woman with mad looking hair and her glasses on crooked said she actually liked his grumpy-looking squashed-in face. There's a lid for every pot, as my Nana always says.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 14th</strong><br/>
<em>Third in Lent</em>
</p><p>All the women I know have gone by coach to a rally in Liverpool to protest about a woman's right to work. Mrs Singh is going in disguise. My mother has lent her her dungarees and pixie boots.</p><p>Saw Bob Fossil in the park. He was pushing Herod too high on the swing and making her scream in terror.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 15th</strong>
</p><p>I catalogued all my books today. I have one hundred and fifty-two, not including Rupert Bear annuals.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 16th</strong>
</p><p>The only thing that worries me about my appearance now is my hair. It's never tidy, and looks exactly the same whether I wash and brush it or not. My eyes are too small as well. I know, because I have measured them.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 17th</strong><br/>
<em>St Patrick's Day. Bank Holiday (Ireland). Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>Mr O'Leary was brought home by police car at 10.30 pm. Mrs O'Leary came over to ask my father if he would come and help get Mr O'Leary upstairs to bed. My father is still over there. I can hear the music and singing even through double glazing.</p><p>It is no joke when you need your sleep for school, and when I went and checked on my mother, I discovered the stress had made her ankles swell up! I think Dad is being very selfish.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 18th</strong>
</p><p>Dad looks like complete crap today. He had to go to the school nurse for some aspirin. Ha! Ha! Ha! Serves him right for not being abstemious.</p><p>I am reading <em>The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy</em> by Douglas Adams. It is dead brilliant. Now I know where Level 42 got their name from. Whenever I get anxious, I am going to tell myself, “Don't Panic”.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 19th</strong>
</p><p>My creative English essay: <em>Spring, by H Moon</em></p><p>The trees explode into bud, indeed some of them are already in verdant leaf. Their branches thrust to the turquoise sky like drunken ziggurats. Their trunks writhe and twist into the earth and form a plethora of roots. The brilliant sky hovers uncertainly like a shy bride at the door of her nuptial chamber. Birds wing and scrape their erratic way into the cotton-wool clouds like madcap rapscallions. The translucent brook gurgles majestically towards its journey’s end. “To the sea!”, it cries. “To the sea!”, it endlessly repeats.</p><p>A lonely boy, his loins afire, sits and watches his sanguine reflection in the torrential brook. His heart is heavy with the pain of the world. By serendipity, his eyes fall to the ground and rest on a wondrous majestic many-hued butterfly. The winged insect takes flight and the boy’s eyes are carried far away until they are but a speck on the scarlet-hued sunset. He senses on the zephyr a whisper of hope for mankind.</p><p>Vince thinks this is the best thing I have ever written, but I know I have got a long way to go until I have learned my craft.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 20th</strong><br/>
<em>Spring Equinox</em>
</p><p>My mother has had all her hair cut off. She looks like one of Auntie Susan's inmates. She doesn't look a bit maternal any more. I don't know whether to get her anything for Mother's Day or not. Last night she said it was a commercial racket, fed by gullible fools.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 21st</strong><br/>
<em>Fourth in Lent. Mothering Sunday</em>
</p><p><em>11.30 am:</em> Didn't get my mother anything, so she has been in a bad mood all morning.</p><p><em>1 pm:</em> My father said, “If I were you, lad, I'd nip round Cherry's and get your mother a card and present”. He gave me two euros, so I got a card saying <em>Mummy, I love you very much</em> (it was the only one left, just my luck), and five boxes of liquorice allsorts (going cheap because the boxes were squashed). She cheered up, and didn't even mind when Dad took a bunch of tulips to Nana and didn't come home for five hours.</p><p>Vince and Ivan took Tania out and spoiled her in a posh restaurant. I will do the same for my mother when I am rich and famous.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 22nd</strong>
</p><p>Looked Swollen Ankles up in the <em>Good Housekeeping Family Health and Medical Guide</em> . It calls itself “comprehensive”, but the index didn’t have Swollen Ankles. I used my initiative and looked up Pregnancy. I was interested to see that Pregnancy was adjacent to Sex and Reproduction.</p><p>I started reading a section called Testes and Sperm and was astonished to discover that my personal testes make several hundred million sperm a day. A DAY! Where do they all go? I know some leak out in the night and some I help to leak occasionally, but what happens to the countless billions that are left swarming around, and what about chaste people like priests? During a lifetime they must collect a trillion trillion. It makes the mind boggle, not to mention the testes.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 23rd</strong>
</p><p>Read the whole of Sex and Reproduction in bed last night. Woke up to find a few hundred million sperm had leaked out. Still, it will give the remaining sperm room to wag their tails about a bit more.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 24th</strong>
</p><p>By a massive stroke of luck we did the storage of semen in Biology today. I was able to give a full and frank account of the life cycle of a sperm. Mr Southgate the Biology teacher was dead impressed. After the lesson he said, “Moon, I don’t know if you’ve got a natural aptitude for Biology or a rather obsessive interest in things sexual. If the former I suggest you change from CSE to O level. If the latter perhaps a chat with the school psychology service may be of use”.</p><p>I assured Mr Southgate that my interest was purely scientific.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 25th</strong><br/>
<em>Lady Day (Quarter Day). New Moon</em>
</p><p>I have had a spiritual awakening. A nice man wearing purple robes called at the house while my parents were out. He represented a group called The Order of Psychedelic Monks. He said that he went by many names, but was usually called Rudi, and that by opening the front door to him, I had passed the first test in becoming a Psychedelic Monk.</p><p>Rudi explained how I was going about things the wrong way, trying to bring about peace by political means. He talked about how The Order alone could bring true peace to the world, by opening their minds through chanting and prayer. Rudi said that when I have inner peace, I will no longer feel jealous or unhappy, and I won't worry about my schoolwork or my hair any more.</p><p>It is twenty euros to join. Finding the money is the second test in becoming a Psychedelic Monk. I will get the money somehow. Nothing is too expensive if it helps bring about world peace.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 26th</strong>
</p><p>Tried to convince Vince to join The Order of Psychedelic Monks. He said he talked to Ivan and Tania about it, and they think I am being taken advantage of. They are going to call my parents.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 27th</strong>
</p><p>Rudi came again at six o'clock. My father wouldn't let him come in, but made him stand on the doorstep in the rain. His purple robes got soaked through. My father said Rudi was trying to brainwash a mere child.</p><p>When Rudi left, my mother watched him walk up the cul-de-sac. She said, “He doesn't look very wise and mysterious now, does he? Just bloody wet”.</p><p>I shed a few tears. I think I was weeping with relief. Twenty euros is a lot of money.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 28th</strong><br/>
<em>Passion Sunday. British Summer Time begins</em>
</p><p>The Young Radicals meeting was held in Vince's lounge. We voted to not allow Ivan or Tania attend the meeting, because they are not young, and have their own adult political meetings to go to. We voted to back the Labour Party at the next election, even though we can't vote yet. Then we discussed NATO's nuclear arms policy.</p><p>Claire Neilson introduced a new member to the group. Her name is Astrid Bayer, and she is an exchange student at our school. She is dead intelligent and dead good-looking with a lovely accent. While Vince was getting the coffee, I talked to her and discovered she knows quite a lot about jazz for a girl, and finds the Danish fur industry to be an interesting topic. She made a great contribution to the group discussion, and will be a valuable addition.</p><p>I heard Vince telling Claire not to bring Astrid again. He told her we don't need any more members.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 29th</strong>
</p><p>I had lunch with Astrid Bayer today. Or at least, I sat next to her at lunch. At first I didn't know what to say to her, but she had an exceptionally nice pencil case on the table next to her, so I complimented it, and told her about Stationery Village. Then I shared a witty anecdote about a pencil case mix-up I once had, and she laughed. I told Vince the same story a few months ago, and he said it didn't make any sense.</p><p>Astrid is a truly wonderful girl. She has read a lot, and we like many of the same books. I think she might be the sort of girl who secretly writes poems. I told her I write poetry, and have had two rejections from the BBC, and she seemed quite impressed.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 30th</strong>
</p><p>I am committing non-sexual adultery with Astrid Bayer. I am at the centre of an eternal triangle. I have only told Leroy, and I swore him to secrecy.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 31st</strong>
</p><p>Leroy blabbed. I will never trust him again.</p><p>My heart was smote when I saw the pain in Vince's beautiful blue eyes. The tears smudged his discreet mascara. Claire and Julie looked at me as if I was a vile worm, and told Vince that all men were bastards. Maybe I <em>am</em> a bastard.</p><p>Bollo said I was out of the gang, and out of the Young Radicals, and that he'd beat me to death, only I wasn't worth it. He said to stay away from Vince, or he really would kill me. I think he means it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The volunteer work organised by The Man Council is based on the real-life governmental Manpower Services Commission, which in the early 1980s forced the unemployed aged 16-19 into a “work for the dole” training scheme which was little more than slave labour. Little wonder the youths involved are so unenthusiastic, and props to Howard's father for making a genuine effort to get through to them. </p><p>Beck is a northern English word for a stream or brook. There are a number of becks around Leeds, but I imagined this one as being Gledhow Beck. The terrible state it is in is hopefully fictional.</p><p>The lads all have traditional British nicknames – their full names are Barry, Darren, Gavin, Kevin, Jeremy, and Terry. </p><p>The protest march in Liverpool is probably one of the activities organised for International Women's Day, which was the previous Monday. It does show that Howard's mother's women's rights group is not only active in the local area (nearly all women in the story seem to belong to it), but has links with the wider feminist community in Britain.  </p><p>Howard reads “The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy” by Douglas Adams (1979). The jazz-funk band Level 42 takes their name from the idea in the book that 42 is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. The band is mentioned in the episode “Hitcher”. Howard consults the “Good Housekeeping Family Health and Medical Guide” (1979, updated 1980).</p><p>The Order of Psychedelic Monks' beliefs are a vague composite of religious movements such as the Hare Krishnas and Eckankar. Their beliefs seem pretty harmless on the surface, although it does appear to be a scam, and it's obviously very wrong to target a boy who isn't even 15 yet.</p><p>Local elections were held in the UK in May 1982, so The Young Radicals were endorsing the Labour Party on a local level. The Conservative Party won, but Leeds remained Labour. I'm not sure what NATO policies they would have discussed, but the group is obviously keeping itself well-informed on nuclear disarmament topics.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. April 1982</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Britain goes to war and Howard falls apart.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 1st</strong><br/>
<em>All Fool's Day. Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>Astrid has ended our brief affair. She said she didn't realise I was with somebody else, and that I wasn't honest with her. She added, “I don't think you were honest with yourself either, Howard”.</p><p>I have lost everything.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 2nd</strong>
</p><p>Went round to Vince's after school to plead with him. Tania opened the door to me coldly, and said, “Vince doesn't want to see you, Howard, and I can quite understand why”. But then I heard Vince say he would talk to me, which Tania only allowed by telling Vince she was just in her office, and he could call for her at any time.</p><p>We sat in the lounge. Vince was on the settee, and I crouched on the ottoman, like a lowly page kneeling before a great lady. Tania has got Vince wearing posh clothes that really suit him, and has shown him how to do his hair and make-up properly, and he looked so beautiful and much too good for me that I lost heart almost immediately.</p><p>Vince said that his greatest fear had always been that I would fall in love with a “real” girl, not a mutant seventy-thirty boy/girl split. I said I didn't think of him that way at all, and he asked why I liked Astrid. I said, “Don't really know. She's pretty and clever, I suppose”.</p><p>“So what am I, pretty and thick?”, said Vince bitterly. I protested that Vince was beautiful and sweet and intelligent and talented, but he called for Tania, and she showed me out, after hugging Vince and telling him he was very brave to talk to me.</p><p>“I thought you were a good boyfriend for Vince, and I'm disappointed to find my instincts were wrong”, Tania said as I left.</p><p>When I got home I found Tania had called my parents to tell them of my perfidy, but they weren't angry with me at all. They actually seemed quite chuffed I had managed to attract a girl, even for a few days. Mum said it's normal for teens to experiment and not to worry about it, and Dad said it would all come out in the wash eventually. Their attempts to soothe my miserable agony would be amusing, were I not in a black vortex of pain.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 3rd</strong>
</p><p><em>8 am:</em> Britain is at war with Argentina!!! Radio Four just announced it. I am overcome. Half of me thinks it is tragic, and the other half thinks it is dead exciting.</p><p><em>10 am:</em> Woke my father to tell him Argentina had invaded the Falklands. He shot out out of bed because he thought I'd said Argentina had invaded the Shetlands. When he realised his mistake, he got back into bed and pulled the covers over his head again.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 4th</strong><br/>
<em>Palm Sunday</em>
</p><p>My father has sent a telegram to the War Office. He wants to take part in the war with Argentina. His telegram read:</p><p>QUALIFIED GEOGRAPHY TEACHER STOP A1 FITNESS STOP OFFERS HIMSELF IN THE SERVICE OF HIS COUNTRY STOP READY FOR IMMEDIATE MOBILISATION</p><p>My mother says he'd do anything to get out of working on the beck.</p><p>At tea-time I was looking at our world map, but I couldn't see the Falkland Islands anywhere. My mother found them. They were hidden under a crumb of fruitcake.</p><p>I rang Vince, but he declined to talk to me.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 5th</strong>
</p><p>Just my luck! It is the first day of the school holidays, and I have no friends to spend it with.</p><p>The dog is in love with a cocker spaniel named Mitzi. The dog stands no chance: a) it isn't a pedigree and b) it doesn't keep itself looking smart. I tried to tactfully point these things out to the dog, but it just looked mournful and went back to lying outside Mitzi's gate.</p><p>Being in love is no joke. I have the same problem with Vince that the dog has with Mitzi. Both of us are not good enough for the ones we aspire to. Still, I am hopeful that Vince will forgive me by the end of the Easter holidays.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 6th</strong>
</p><p>The nation has been told that Britain and Argentina are not at war, we are at conflict.</p><p>I am reading a love story called <em>The Collector</em> by John Fowles.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 7th</strong>
</p><p>Wrote and sent Vince a letter and poem. The letter said:</p><p>
  <em>Vince my love,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I cannot apologise enough for my crude betrayal of your heart, and the hurt I caused you. I fully understand why you are ignoring me. Even though I know I deserve my fate, every fibre of my being longs for you. I miss you. I miss the sweetness of your lips on mine, and more importantly, I miss the laughter that we once shared.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours with undying love,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Howard</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Lonely Stickleback</em>
</p><p>I am a stickleback,<br/>
Swimming in a sea of loneliness.<br/>
Oh when, oh when<br/>
Shall I reach the sea's end<br/>
And swim into the delta of love?</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 8th</strong><br/>
<em>Maundy Thursday. Full Moon</em>
</p><p>Lester has been thrown out of The Nag's Head for saying that the Falkland Islands belong to Argentina. Lester doesn't mind, he only used to go to take advantage of their cheap beer on pension day.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 9th</strong><br/>
<em>Good Friday</em>
</p><p>The <em>Canberra</em> has gone to the Falklands and taken Barry Kent's older brother, Clive, with it.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 10th</strong><br/>
<em>Holy Saturday</em>
</p><p>Nana and Grandpa came round to check our pantry for Argentinian corned beef. We passed the test, because our corned beef was made from Brazilian cows.</p><p>Nana has a funny look in her eyes. My mother says it is called jingoism, but I think it is more likely to be cataracts forming. We did them in Biology last term, so I speak from knowledge.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 11th</strong><br/>
<em>Easter Sunday</em>
</p><p>The working classes are toiling round the clock to mend Britain's old battleships. Britain is planning to spring a surprise attack on Argentina in six week's time.</p><p>My grandparents arrived this morning to make me to go to their spiritualist church with them. They have given up on my parents. The vicar forced us to pray for the Falkland Islanders. He said they were “under the tyranny of the jack boot of fascism”. He got dead mad talking about world peace. His sermon went on far too long in my opinion. Even Nana started fidgeting and whispering about needing to switch the sprouts on.</p><p>I have made up my mind to confess to my grandparents that I am no longer a Christian believer. Didn't get an Easter egg: my mother and father said I am too old. Anyone would think there was a law against people of nearly fifteen eating Easter eggs!</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 12th</strong><br/>
<em>Easter Monday</em>
</p><p>Mitzi's owner came round to ask my mother to keep our dog away from Mitzi. My mother said the dog lived in a liberal household, and was allowed to go where it pleased.</p><p>Mitzi's owner, Mrs Carmichael, said that if our dog “continued harassing Mitzi”, she would be forced to report it to the police. My mother laughed, and said, “Why don't you go the whole hog, and take a High Court injunction out?”.</p><p>Half an hour later, Mr Carmichael came round. He said Mitzi was being prepared for Crufts and mustn't suffer any stress. My mother said, “I've got better things to do than stand here discussing a romance between a bloody cocker spaniel and a mongrel”.</p><p>It turned out that the better thing she had to do was lie on the settee and read <em>The Guardian</em>, so I made tuna salad for tea.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 13th</strong>
</p><p>I received the following letter from Vince this morning:</p><p>
  <em>Dear Howard,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I miss you too. I was really happy with you, but things changed. You became jealous and possessive, sulking whenever I played football with Craig, and not even letting me go to the beck with you. And then it was you who saw somebody else behind my back. I'm sorry Howard, but I don't trust you not to do it again if you get attention from someone else. I think it would be better if we gave each other some space for a while.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Vince</em>
</p><p>
  <em>PS Tania helped me write this letter. Tania thinks it would be helpful for you to see a therapist or counsellor about your insecurities.</em>
</p><p><em>3 am:</em> I have used a whole Andrex toilet roll to mop up my tears. I haven't cried so much since the wind blew my candy floss away at Scarborough.</p><p><em>4 am:</em> I slept fitfully, then got out of bed to watch the dawn break. The world is no longer exciting and colourful. It is grey and full of heartbreak. I thought of doing myself in, but it's not really fair on the people you leave behind. It would upset my mother to come into my room and find my corpse. She might even lose the baby. I shan't bother doing my O Levels. I'll be an intellectual road sweeper. I will surprise litter louts by quoting Chekhov as they pass me by.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 14th</strong>
</p><p>Yesterday before I opened that letter I was a normal intellectual teenager. Today I know what it is to suffer. Although not yet fifteen, I have become an adult. I am no longer young. In fact, I have noticed wrinkles forming on my forehead. I wouldn't be surprised if my hair turns white overnight.</p><p>I am in total anguish!</p><p>I love him!</p><p>I love him!</p><p>I love him!</p><p>Oh, God!</p><p>Oh Vince!</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 15th</strong>
</p><p>Woke up at 4 am in torment. I sat wrapped in my quilt, racked with agony, and watched the sky get light. The heartless birds began their happy squawking, and a new day of misery dawned.</p><p>Why oh why did I ever bother with Astrid? I can't even remember what I saw in her. But now she has ruined my life forever.</p><p>I have written Vince a short note:</p><p>
  <em>Vince Darling,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know I have been a fool. I treated your love carelessly, and it is no wonder you shrink from me now, like a delicate flower. Please, at least grant me an audience that I might apologise in person.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours with unvanquished love,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Howard</em>
</p><p>I will deliver it by hand tonight.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 16th</strong><br/>
<em>Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>Woke up at 3 am in an agony of heartbreak. It actually felt as if my heart had broken, my chest ached so much, and it hurt to breathe. I tried to suffer in silence, but my pain-racked sobs must have filtered through to my parents' bedroom, because my father crashed into my room and told me to be quiet. He reminded me that my mother finds it difficult to sleep, being pregnant, and he had to work on the beck. He woke the dog up, who barked and woke my mother up, and then the lousy birds started. So once again I watched dawn's grey fingers infiltrate the night.</p><p>The dog has been howling at Mitzi's gate all day. It is also off its Pedigree Chum and Winalot.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 17th</strong>
</p><p>Spent the morning in bed, crying. My father made me get up for lunch, saying that we were meeting my grandparents in Wakefield to visit a garden centre, and I could cut out the waterworks and make myself pleasant for once. “Your mother has enough on her plate without worrying about you as well”.</p><p><em>7 pm:</em> Garden centres must be the most boring places on earth, yet adults walk around them with expressions of ecstasy on their faces!</p><p>My grandparents bought a dozen rose sticks and a bag of fertiliser and a plastic Cupid urn.</p><p>My father bought a rose stick called “True Love”. He and my mother looked at each other in a sloppy way and held hands over the stick. I left them to it and went and looked at the poisons on the bottom shelf.</p><p>I was toying with the idea of buying a bottle when Grandpa shouted at me, telling me to help them carry fertiliser to the car and not leave everything up to others. Thus my mind was torn from thoughts of death.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 18th</strong><br/>
<em>Low Sunday</em>
</p><p>Spent all day in my bedroom. I am just about devastated by grief. I can't go on like this. I have written a letter to Claire, the agony aunt from the <em>Sunday Mirror</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Claire,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am a schoolboy, and nearly fifteen years old. My grandmother tells me I am attractive, and many people have commented on how mature I am for my years. I am an only child, but will be getting a brother or sister very soon (and we have a dog).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My problem is this. Until recently, I was in a relationship with another boy, who was too good for me. He is the best looking boy in our class by miles, is a talented football player who has been told he could play professionally one day, and has rich foster parents who give him tons of pocket money. However, he always told me these things weren't important to how he felt about me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We were very happy, but then I made a stupid mistake by seeing a girl from our school behind his back. It must have been a passing fancy, because now I wonder what on earth I was thinking. My boyfriend ditched me, saying that he can't trust me now, and also claiming that I had become too jealous and possessive.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know I deserve it, but I cry all day and feel miserable without him. I'm very lonely, because I've lost nearly all of my friends over this. Can you please tell me how to win someone back when you have betrayed them?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours in desperation,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Poet of the North</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 19th</strong>
</p><p>School is horrible. I have to eat lunch by myself, and Vince just looks through me, as if I was the invisible man. I tried to catch his eye during English, but he deliberately looked in the opposite direction.</p><p>I have listened to <em>Round Midnight</em> by Thelonious Monk so many times that I think the record is wearing out. I would like to listen to it at midnight itself and weep for my lost love, but my parents would go mad at me.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 20th</strong>
</p><p>We had quite a good debate in Media Studies this morning, about the Falklands. The proposition was “That this class is against the use of force to regain the Falkland Islands”.</p><p>The standard of debate was better than usual. I made a brilliant speech in favour of the motion. I quoted from <em>The Island of Doctor Moreau</em> and <em>The Outsider</em> by Albert Camus. I got quite a good round of applause when I sat down.</p><p>Barry Kent spoke against the proposition. He said, “Er, I, er, fink we should, you know, like, bomb the coast of Argentina”. He was quoting his father, but <em>he</em> sat down to a standing ovation!</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 21st</strong>
</p><p>Mrs Singh accompanied my mother to the antenatal clinic today. The gynaecologist has told my mother she must rest more or she will be forced into hospital and made to stay in bed. Her swollen ankles are caused by high blood pressure. She is dead old to be having a baby so the doctors are giving her more attention in case she dies and they get into trouble.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 22nd</strong>
</p><p>I couldn't face going to school only to be lonely and ignored again, so I stayed in bed until 12.45 pm. I asked my mother for an excuse note. I gave it to Ms Fossington-Gore during afternoon registration. She read it angrily, then said, “At least your mother is honest. It makes a change from the usual lies one has come to expect from most parents”.</p><p>She showed me the letter. It read:</p><p>
  <em>Dear Ms Fossington-Gore,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Howard did not come to school this morning because he didn't get out of bed until 12.45 pm.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ms Pauline Moon</em>
</p><p>I will get my father to write my excuse notes in future.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 23rd</strong><br/>
<em>St George's Day. Shakespeare Day. New Moon</em>
</p><p>Barry Kent came to school in a Union Jack tee-shirt today. Ms Fossington-Gore sent him home to change. Barry Kent shouted, “I'm celebratin' our patron saint's birthday, ain't I?”.</p><p>Ms Fossington-Gore shouted back, “You're wearing a symbol of fascism, you nasty NF lout”.</p><p>Today is also Shakespeare's birthday. One day I will be a great writer like him. I am well on the way. I have already had two rejection letters from the BBC.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 24th</strong>
</p><p>Barry Kent's father is on the front of the local paper tonight. He is pictured holding Barry Kent's Union Jack tee-shirt. The caption underneath his picture says PATRIOT MOURNS LOSS OF NATIONAL PRIDE.</p><p>The article said:</p><p>
  <em>Burly World War II veteran Frederick Kent (45) spoke to our reporter in his homely Council house lounge about his profound feelings of regret that his son Barry (15) was ridiculed and humiliated because he wore a Union Jack tee-shirt to school. Barry is a student at The Grange School. Mrs Kent (35) said, “My son Barry is a sensitive boy who worships his country and is very fond of St George, so he wore a tee-shirt what had a picture of our great English flag”. Mr Frederick Kent interjected, “On account of how it was St George's birthday yesterday”.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mr Kent is refusing to let his son attend school until the teacher involved, Ms Fossington-Gore (31), makes a publish apology.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mr Dixon Bainbridge (57), headmaster of the school, said on the telephone today: “I know the wretched Kent family only too well and I'm sure we can work something out so it doesn't make the local rag”. When it was pointed out to Mr Bainbridge that he was in fact talking to Roger Greenhill, our Education correspondent, Mr Bainbridge apologised and made the following statement: “No comment”.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 25th</strong><br/>
<em>Second after Easter. Daylight Savings Time begins (USA and Canada)</em>
</p><p>British troops have recaptured South Georgia. I have adjusted my campaign map accordingly.</p><p>My mother spent the day reading the Sunday papers with her ankles raised above her head.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 26th</strong>
</p><p>My parents are starting to panic about having a baby. My father said he can't go through all that three o'clock in the morning stuff at his age, and my mother is worried about what happens if something goes wrong during the birth. They should have thought of these things nine months ago!</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 27th</strong>
</p><p>Got a letter from Claire the agony aunt! I read it on the way to school.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Poet of the North,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well, well, well, you've got yourself into a pickle, haven't you lovey? You let your teenage hormones get the better of you, and now you're paying the price.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>One thing I must say to you. You're a boy of nearly fifteen who is attracted to both sexes, and yet your problem is only that your boyfriend has left you. Do you know how many letters I get from lads and lasses your age, all over the country, who are frightened of being beaten or thrown out of home by their parents because they are gay or bisexual? The fact that you have no such fears speaks volume about the security of your home life, and you should be very thankful to your mum and dad.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I find it interesting that you think your former boyfriend is more fortunate than you, yet the fact that you mention he has foster parents suggests that he must also have experienced some real hardships. The loss of biological parents early in life is a heavy burden, and your former boyfriend probably has a deep fear of being abandoned that your behaviour brought to the fore. Little wonder he wants nothing to do with you now.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's a strange thing, but when we believe we aren't good enough for someone, we so often try to prove it by behaving badly towards them. I do hope this young lass you took a fancy to was not likewise hurt by your actions. You don't seem to be worried about her feelings at all. If you could build up your confidence to believe that you are worthy of a wonderful boyfriend or girlfriend, you might find it easier to attract and keep one.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope you learn a valuable lesson from this, because it is no easy thing to win someone back when you have hurt them. I think your former boyfriend is a sensible laddie for asking for some space, and you owe him that much. Apologise, show remorse, give him time to heal, and perhaps in the future you will at least have a friendship with him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In the meantime, there's no point moping about, is there? Take up a hobby, try to make new friends, and get plenty of fresh air and exercise. You've got a new baby brother or sister to look forward to, and I'm sure your parents could use your help and support right now. Most of all, enjoy your precious teenage years.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Claire</em>
</p><p>Enjoy my precious teenage years! They are nothing but trouble and misery. I can't wait until I am fully mature and can make urbane conversation with fellow intellectuals. And what useless advice – not one single idea on how to get Vince back!</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 28th</strong>
</p><p>Nana phoned the house in a panic today, saying that Grandpa had had a funny turn. He's got a bad headache and seems confused. Dad took the phone call, leaning on the banisters as if he needed holding up. Dad was breathing quickly, and grabbed his coat, saying he had to go to Wakefield to help Nana. He said not to say anything to my mother - “She can't have any stress at the moment”.</p><p>Mum got home from the Singhs a few minutes later. I pretended Dad was at a Man Council meeting, and made tea for Mum and myself before washing up and doing the hoovering while my mother had a rest.</p><p>When Dad got home this evening, he told me privately that a doctor had been called out, who said my grandfather's high blood pressure had got worse. He has new medication to take, and the doctor said he should eat a healthier diet and give up smoking, but Grandpa will never give up his pipe. If he has another episode, he will need to be hospitalised. My grandparents have been sworn to secrecy, because Dad is dead worried that something will happen to the baby if Mum gets stressed.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 29th</strong>
</p><p>School is far more pleasant now that Barry Kent's shaved head and ferocious boots are but a bad memory.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 30th</strong><br/>
<em>Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>I wrote a note to Vince saying <em>I still love you</em> and put it on his peg in the cloakroom. I watched him read it, then screw it up and throw it in the bin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The fantastic fanart for the chapter was commissioned from awesome artist @feralmurphy.</p><p>The Falklands War was a 10-week conflict which began when Argentina invaded and occupied the Falkland Islands on 2 April 1982. Howard follows the war with keen interest, and there are many references to its key events in his diary.</p><p>Howard's father mishears the Falklands as the Shetlands – the Shetlands Islands are off the coast of Scotland.</p><p>Howard reads “The Collector” by John Fowles (1963), a thriller about a socially maladept man who kidnaps a middle-class art student and keeps her in the cellar of his lonely farmhouse. Howard worryingly reads it as a love story. The book is one of the influences on “The Legend of Old Gregg”, and Julian wrongly asserted that it showed that the kidnapped person gradually warmed to their captor (hinting that Howard would eventually have warmed to Old Gregg). He either misremembered the book or misunderstood it, because that isn't what happens. Howard also mentions reading “The Outsider” by Albert Camus (1942), one of the inspirations for “The Nightmare of Milky Joe”.</p><p>Crufts is the largest dog show in the world, organised by The Kennel Club. It is held in early March in Birmingham each year, so at Easter, Mitzi is already in preparation for the 1983 Crufts.</p><p>Andrex is a British brand of toilet paper, manufactured since 1942. </p><p>Scarborough on the east coast of Yorkshire was the first ever seaside resort in Britain, and still a popular holiday destination. </p><p>The “SS Canberra” was a P&amp;O cruise ship, launched in 1960. During the Falklands War, she was recommissioned for use as a troopship, to transport 3 Commando Brigade to the Falklands, and sent into the heart of the conflict. 3 Commando Brigade were mostly Royal Marines, supported by other members of the navy, army, and air force. </p><p>Argentina Corned Beef is a popular brand in the UK. During the Falklands War, trade with Argentina ceased, and many Argentinian brands were thrown out by British supermarkets. Howard's grandparents are not unusual for policing the pantry this way. The junior Moons probably buy JBS corned beef, which is from Brazil. </p><p>The vicar urges praying for the Falkland Islanders currently under Argentinian occupation. Argentina's government was a military dictatorship, which is why the vicar says they are under a “fascist jackboot”. Three of the Islanders were killed during the conflict. </p><p>“True Love” is a hybrid tea rose developed in 1979 in the Netherlands. It is bushy with clusters of large white blooms. </p><p>The agony aunt Claire is Claire Rayner (1931-2010), a nurse turned journalist who had been writing agony columns since 1973, and had been with the “Sunday Mirror” since 1980. A remarkable person who overcame a childhood of abuse, Claire made a point of answering every letter personally, even though only a few could be published. She was known for her forthright opinions, and did support lesbian, gay, and bi teens, so it didn't seem out of character for her to hand out sensible advice to Howard.  </p><p>Howard listens to “Round Midnight” by Theolonious Monk (1944), a jazz standard about lost love. He might be listening to the album, “Monk's Blues” (1968). </p><p>St George is the patron saint of England, and his feast day of 23 April is traditionally a day to celebrate English culture. Unfortunately, it has also encouraged a certain brand of extreme right-wing nationalism amongst a few (of which Barry Kent is a very mild specimen).</p><p>Shakespeare's birthday is also celebrated on 23 April. In fact his birthday is not known – he was baptised on 26 April 1564, and died on 23 April 1616, so the date is a convenient fiction, especially as it coincides with St George's Day.  </p><p>Ms Fossington-Gore calls Barry Kent “a NF lout”. She refers to the National Front, an extreme right fascist white supremacist minor political group founded in 1967. It reached the height of its support in the mid-1970s but still exists today.</p><p>As is the way with local newspapers, the article contains several errors, such as saying Barry's father is a “World War II veteran”, when he would have only been a baby when war broke out. The Union Jack is the flag of Britain, not England, and not associated with St George's Day. St George's Day does not celebrate the saint's birthday, but the day of his death. </p><p>The Grange School is a fictionalised version of Allerton Grange School in Moortown, a comprehensive school close to Chapel Allerton where Howard claimed to have once lived. </p><p>South Georgia is an island in the British overseas territory of South Georgia and the South Sandwich Islands, about 1300 km from the Falkland Islands. There is no permanent population, and Argentina had a naval station here until 1982.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. May 1982</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Howard turns fifteen, and becomes a brother.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Saturday 1st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>May Day</em>
</p><p>Nana rang with her annual gibberish about “Cast ne'er a clout”. I tried telling her I never take my vest off, but she hung up before I could explain properly.</p><p>Went round to Leroy's, and was astounded to hear that his parents are trying to emigrate to Australia! How could any English person want to live abroad? Foreigners can't help living abroad because they were born there, but for an English person to go is ridiculous, especially now that sun-tan lamps are so readily available.</p><p>Leroy agrees with me. He asked if he could stay behind and live at our house. I warned him we would be getting a baby very soon, but that didn't seem to worry him.</p><p>Britain has bombed Port Stanley airport and put it out of action.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 2nd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Third after Easter</em>
</p><p>I couldn't sleep, so I got up very early and went for a walk past Vince's house. I thought about him lying in his Habitat bed wearing his Liberty pyjamas and I don't mind admitting that tears sprang to my eyes. However, I dashed them away and went to call on Lester and Queenie.</p><p>A wild old woman answered the door, saying “What have you got me out of bed for?”. It was Queenie with her hair on end and no make-up.</p><p>I apologised and went home to wake my parents with a cup of tea. Were they grateful? No. My mother said, “For God's sake Howard, it's cockcrow on Sunday morning. Push off and buy the papers or something”.</p><p>I bought the papers, read them, then took them up to my parents. I think it must be time to turn the central heating down, because they were both very red in the face. I heard my mother say, “George, we need a lock on that door”.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 3rd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>May Day Holiday (except Scotland), Bank Holiday (Scotland)</em>
</p><p>My mother has the baby in two weeks’ time! The hospital did a test on her today. She is getting into a panic because the spare room is still a spare room and not a nursery. They have only bought one thing for the baby (apart from clothes and nappies) – a pram.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 4th</strong>
</p><p>I am fifteen, but legally I am still a child. There is nothing I can do today that I couldn't do yesterday. Worse luck!</p><p>Had seven cards from relatives and three from friends (Lester, Leroy, and Jack Kodiak). My presents were the usual load of Japanese rubbish, though Lester and Queenie gave me a model aeroplane made in West Germany.</p><p>Vince has ignored my birthday. I don't blame him.</p><p>Tez, Baz, Daz, Gaz, Kev and Jez came back from the beck and gave me the bumps. Tez gave me a tube of glue for my model aeroplane.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 5th</strong>
</p><p>My mother has stopped wearing a bra. I wish she wouldn't wear such tight tee-shirts. It isn't dignified for a heavily pregnant woman of her age (37).</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 6th</strong>
</p><p>After school I went to the hairdresser’s with my massive mother. She didn’t want me to go but she can’t be allowed out of doors on her own, can she? Women are always having babies in phone boxes, buses, lifts etc. It is a well-known fact.</p><p>My mother let the hairdresser, Franco, boss her around. He told her off for not coming to see him every week like before, and she just sat there meekly. He moaned about her getting grey hairs, and having split ends, and made her buy a new conditioner. Then he ignored everything she asked for, cut all her hair off and spray-dyed it purple, and she paid him. <em>And</em> gave him a tip!</p><p>If me or Dad treated Mum like that, she would throw us out of the house!</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 7th</strong>
</p><p>I heard a very yukky woman talking on Radio Four tonight about how she became a millionairess from writing romantic fiction books. She said that women enjoyed reading about doctors and electronic wizards and people like that. I am going to have a go a myself. I could do with a million euros. The woman said it was important for an author of romantic fiction to have an evocative name, so, after much thought, I have decided to call myself Hyacinth Moore. I have already written the first half page:</p><p>
  <em>Longing for Warrington by Hyacinth Moore</em>
</p><p>Justin Lindsey's copper-flecked eyes glanced cynically around the terrace. He was sick of St. Tropez, and longing for Warrington.</p><p>He flexed his remaining fingers and examined them critically. The accident with the chainsaw had ended his brilliant career in electronics. His days were now devoid of microchips. There was a yawning chasm in his life. He had tried to fill it with travel and self-gratification, but nothing could blot out the memories he had of Aurelia Montague, the virginal plastic surgeon at St Winifred's in Warrington.</p><p>Justin brooded, blindly blinking back big blurry tears …</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 8th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Full Moon</em>
</p><p>My grandparents came round and took me to Wakefield for the day. They seem to think I have been neglected because of the baby. Grandpa seemed well enough, if perhaps a little slower on his feet. He smoked his pipe with an air of subtle defiance.</p><p>Nana showed me my baby photos. I was a bit grotesque: I was completely bald until I was two and had a dead fierce expression on my face. Now I know why my parents don't have a Technicolor gilt-framed photo of me on top of the television set like other parents. Nana said, “You were a very good baby, Howard, and we will love you just as much as the new baby when it arrives. Won't we, Bert?”.</p><p>“Aye, lass”, said Grandpa, sounding tired, as we sat down to a healthy dinner.</p><p>When I got home, I saw that my mother had packed her little weekend case and put it in the hall.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 9th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Fourth after Easter. Mother's Day (USA and Canada)</em>
</p><p>Dad went to the DIY this morning and came back with everything we need to finish painting the nursery. He roped me in, and we started preparing the walls this afternoon. It is the worst job – I keep having flashbacks to when we painted my room. At least there's no wallpaper in this room. Mum is under strict instructions not to come in until we are completely finished.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 10th</strong>
</p><p>Painted from after school until bedtime. Paint under my nails, in my hair, in my eyes. Tired, head hurts, aching hands, keep seeing primrose paint in front of my eyes, even when I close them.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 11th</strong>
</p><p>Dad took my mother for her last appointment at the antenatal clinic. When they got home, my father told me the baby's head is engaged. I am not conversant with the technicalities of childbirth, so don't ask me what that means.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 12th</strong>
</p><p>Went to see Lester and Queenie with my mother this afternoon. Everyone we met on the way asked my mother when the baby was due, or made comments like, “I expect you'll be glad when the baby's here, won't you?”.</p><p>My mother was rather ungracious in her replies. Lady Diana is always happy to talk to reporters when they ask about <em>her</em> pregnancy.</p><p>Queenie opened the door, and said, “I suppose you've had nothing but people asking when you're going to drop that sprog?”, and Mum laughed.</p><p>Lester said, “The baby will come in its own time, when the music of life gives pause for a new beat to start”. Mum sighed, and said she wished the music of life would bloody well hurry up then.</p><p>We took a taxi back home after tea because Mum's ankles started to swell. The taxi driver moaned, because the distance was only half a mile.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 13th</strong>
</p><p>I was woken up at 3 am by the sound of my mother crying. I knocked on the door to ask what was wrong, but Dad told me to go back to bed. He was holding my mum and patting her back, telling her everything will be alright. I gave her a quick hug and went back to bed.</p><p>I hope he is correct.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 14th</strong>
</p><p>Couldn't concentrate at school for worrying about my mother.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 15th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Scottish Quarter Day</em>
</p><p>My mother has gone mad cleaning the house from top to bottom. There was nothing Dad and I could do but join her. My fingers are swollen and sore from scrubbing the kitchen floor. I could not in all conscience allow my extremely pregnant mother to do that.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 16th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Rogation Sunday. Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>We have finished the nursery. It is primrose yellow with a stick-on frieze of bunnies and daisies around the walls. My old cot has been given a fresh coat of white paint, and has a new rubber-lined mattress in it, and new soft bunny blankets. There is a big comfortable old wicker chair that used to be in the spare room, now painted white, and Queenie made pale green curtains and matching cushion covers for us. The chest of drawers that was in the spare room has been painted white too, ready to be filled with baby clothes.</p><p>Dad and I showed Mum tonight. She sat down in the chair and stared, and then she put her head in her hands and cried. I thought we'd done something wrong, but it turned out they were tears of joy.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 17th</strong>
</p><p>Dad called me out of Maths this morning to tell me Grandpa had been taken to hospital. He was just on his way to Wakefield. He said he would be home as soon as possible, and to help Mum as much as I could.</p><p>I worried about Grandpa until I got home from school and found my mother’s little suitcase was missing from the hall. She was nowhere in the house, but I found a note on the biscuit tin. It said:</p><p>
  <em>Howard,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Waters broke at 3.35 pm. Couldn't get your father at the school. I am going to the labour ward of the General Infirmary. Call a taxi. €5 note at bottom of spaghetti jar. <span class="u">Don’t worry</span>.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love, Mum</em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.S. Dog at Mrs Singh’s.</em>
</p><p>Her writing looked dead untidy. I got changed out of my school uniform before calling the taxi. The taxi ride was a nightmare. The driver seemed to be driving extra slow the whole way. I was almost in tears by the time he parked outside the hospital. I had a mental image of my mother calling for me, and could hear my father saying, “Take care of your mother, son”.</p><p>Then the driver said he couldn't change a five euro note, so I flung it at him in frustration and ran into the hospital. Found the lift and pressed the button which said “Labour Ward”.</p><p>I emerged into another world. It looked like the space control centre at Houston.</p><p>A technician asked, “Who are you?”.</p><p>I said, “I’m Howard Moon”.</p><p>“And you’ve got permission to visit the labour ward?”.</p><p>“Yes,” I said. (Why did I say yes? Why?).</p><p>“Room 13. She’s being a bit stubborn.”</p><p>“Yes, she’s a stubborn kind of person,” I said, and walked down the corridor.</p><p>Doors opened and shut and I caught glimpses of women hooked up to gruesome-looking equipment. Moans and groans bounced around the shiny floors. I pushed the door of Room 13 open and saw my mother lying on a high bed reading <em>Memoirs of a Fox-hunting Man</em> by Siegfried Sassoon.</p><p>She looked pleased to see me, and then asked where Dad was. I was halfway through telling her, when she screwed her face up and started singing <em>Hard Day’s Night</em>.</p><p>After a bit she stopped singing and looked normal. She even laughed when I got to the bit about the horrible taxi driver. A kind-looking black nurse came in and said, “Are you all right, honey?”.</p><p>My mother said, “Yes. This is Howard”.</p><p>The nurse said, “Put a mask and gown on, Howard, and sit in a corner. It’s going to be action stations soon!”.</p><p>After about half an hour my mother was singing more and talking less. She kept grabbing my hand and crushing it. The nurse came back in and to my relief told me to go out. But my mother wouldn’t let go of my hand. The nurse told me to make myself useful and time the contractions. When she’d gone I asked my mother what contractions were.</p><p>“Pains,” she said, between clenched teeth. I asked her why she hadn’t had her back frozen to stop the pain. My mother said, “I can’t stand people fiddling around with my back”.</p><p>The pains started coming every minute, and my mother went barmy, and a lot of people ran in and started telling her to push. I sat in a far corner at the head end of my mother and tried not to look at the other end where doctors and nurses were clanging about with metal things. My mother was puffing and panting, just like she does at Christmas when she’s blowing balloons up. Soon everyone was shouting, “Push, Mrs Moon, push!”. My mother pushed until her eyes nearly popped out. “Harder”, they shouted. My mother went a bit barmy again, and the doctor said, “I can see the baby’s head!”.</p><p>I tried to escape then but my mother said, ''Where’s Howard? I want Howard”.</p><p>I didn’t like to leave her alone with strangers, so I said I’d stay. I stared at the beauty spot on my mother’s cheek for the next three minutes, and I didn’t look up, until I heard the black nurse say, “Pant for the head”.</p><p>At 5.19 pm my mother had a barmy moment; then the doctor and nurses gave a sort of loud sigh, and I looked up and saw a skinny purple thing hanging upside down. It was covered in white stuff.</p><p>“It’s a lovely little girl, Mrs Moon”, the doctor said, and he looked dead pleased, as if he were the father himself.</p><p>My mother said, “Is she all right?”.</p><p>The doctor said, “Toes and fingers all correct”.</p><p>The baby started crying in a crotchety, bad-tempered way, and she was put on my mother's flatter belly. My mother looked at her as if she was a precious piece of jewellery. I congratulated my mother, and she said, “Say hello to your sister”.</p><p>The doctor stared at me in my mask and gown and said, “Aren’t you Mr Moon, the baby’s father?”.</p><p>I said, “No, I’m Master Moon, the baby’s brother”.</p><p>“Then you’ve broken every rule in this hospital”’ he said. “I must ask you to leave. You could be rife with childhood infectious diseases”.</p><p>So, while they stood around waiting for something called the placenta to emerge, I went into the corridor. I found a waiting-room full of worried-looking men, smoking and talking about cars.</p><p>
  <em>(To be continued after sleep .)</em>
</p><p>At 6.15 I rang Leroy and told him the news. He said, “Congrats, mate”. Next I rang Nana, who sobbed and sobbed, then told me Grandpa was alright. “He's stable”, she said.</p><p>Then I phoned Lester and Queenie, who threatened to come and see my mother. But I managed to put them off. Then I ran out of coins, so I called in to see my mum and sister. Then went home. I walked around the empty house, trying to imagine sharing it with a little girl.</p><p>I put all my smashable possessions on the top shelf of my unit. Then went to bed. It was only 7.30 but for some reason I was dead tired.</p><p>Dad came home at 8.15 and woke me up. He'd just come from seeing Mum and the baby, and gibbered excitedly about having a girl. He said Grandpa was being kept in hospital for a few days, for observation. He's a bit grumpy because he can't have his pipe.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 18th</strong>
</p><p>I am a hero at school. Leroy told everyone that I<em> delivered</em> the baby. Even Vince looked rather impressed, and when everyone said “Congratulations”, he clapped along with the others. After school, Dad and I went to visit our female relations in one hospital, and then Grandpa at another. Grandpa kept saying, “A little lass, a little lass!”, as if he couldn't quite believe it.</p><p>While we were having supper, I gave Dad a blow-by-blow account of the birth, until he said I was putting him off his food.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 19th</strong>
</p><p>I went to see my mother and the baby this afternoon. I had to fight my way through the crowd of visitors around her bed. For such a stubborn person, she is certainly popular. The baby was passed around like an exhibit in a court room. Everyone said, “Isn't she beautiful?”.</p><p>The women said, “Ooh, it makes me feel broody”.</p><p>The men said, “Small fingernails”.</p><p>Then Queenie and Lester arrived, so a space was cleared for Lester's wheelchair, and Queenie sat on the bed and squashed my mother's legs and it was dead chaotic. The nurses started looking efficient and bossy. A staff nurse said, “Only two visitors to a bed”. Just then my father arrived with Nana, so everyone else left.</p><p>Nana held the baby as if she was the most valuable thing in the world, and then wept, wiping her eyes with trembling hands. Dad patted her shoulder and said she'd been through a lot, and then we all had to go and see Grandpa in Wakefield, saying goodbye to Mum and the baby.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 20th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Ascension Day</em>
</p><p>Both my mother and grandfather are being released from hospital tomorrow. Dad is organising a day off school for both of us, so he can drive everyone home.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 21st</strong>
</p><p>Mrs Singh and Mrs O'Leary came round early to tidy the house. Dad and I protested we were perfectly capable, but Mrs O'Leary said, “Sure, you're talking nonsense now. How would great lumps like you know how to make a house nice enough to pass the eagle eyes of a woman?”.</p><p>At 10 am Dad left for the hospital. At 11.15 I watched my father carry his daughter down the front path, followed by my thin, purple-haired mother. After going mad over the baby, Mrs Singh and Mrs O'Leary melted away and left us alone together. I made a cup of tea.</p><p>My parents took theirs to bed, and took the baby with them. I let mine go cold, until Dad had to leave to get Grandpa. I made dinner, and took it up to Mum, who looked exhausted.</p><p>At 2.30 the midwife arrived, and did mysterious things to my mother in the privacy of the master bedroom. At 3.15 the midwife came downstairs, and said my mother was suffering after-baby blues caused by hormone trouble. She asked who was caring for my mother. I said I was at the moment, and my father would be home as soon as possible. She said, “I see”, in a thin-lipped manner. I said, “I know how to push a Hoover around”.</p><p>She said, “Your mother needs more support”.</p><p>So I took the pillows off my bed to give to my mother, so she would have more support for her back. This act of kindness made her cry. I was glad when Dad got home, but he was so tired he fell asleep on the settee while I was making tea.</p><p>Today was Vince's fifteenth birthday. I'm glad I wasn't at school for it, but I hope he had a good day.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 22nd</strong>
</p><p>The baby woke up five times in the night. I know because I sat by her cot, checking her breathing every ten minutes.</p><p>My mother has stopped crying and started wearing mascara again.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 23rd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Sunday after Ascension. New Moon</em>
</p><p>Mrs Singh and Mrs O'Leary are taking it in turns to look after my mother and sister. They refuse to believe Dad and I are good enough.</p><p>Leroy came round to see the baby. He said I am starting to become a bit boring, and that not everyone wants to know my sister's daily feeding pattern. How callous can you get?</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 24th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Victoria Day (Canada)</em>
</p><p>After school, Dad ironed baby clothes while Mum fed my sister with her feet on the dog. I started folding ironed baby clothes ready to put away, but Dad told me to take a night off. “Just go and do something normal and teenage, please Howard”, Dad said.</p><p>So after tea I went to the youth club. Barry Kent was there with his gang, worse luck! Bob Fossil was showing a film about potholing in the Yorkshire Dales. I was very interested, but found it hard to concentrate because Barry Kent kept putting his fingers in front of the projector and making rabbits and giraffes and other animal shapes.</p><p>When Barry Kent had gone to the coffee bar to harass the Youth Work student behind the counter, I started telling Bob Fossil my problems. He said, “Hey wow, that's really bad Howard. I don't like cricket, and I don't like hearing about one of my club members having a bad time. I'm kinda busy right now though, so come and see me at 6 pm tomorrow and we'll have a good rap together”.</p><p>I think this means he wants to talk to me at six o'clock tomorrow.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 25th</strong>
</p><p>Went to Bob Fossil's office in the youth club. We had a long talk about my problems, from losing Vince's love and trust to worrying about my Grandpa to wondering how to tell my Nana I am no longer a Christian to adjusting to life with a new baby. Bob Fossil said I was a “typical product of middle class anxiety”, and my problems were the result of my generation's “alienation from an increasingly urbanised society”, with the “ever present fear of the bomb” hanging over us. He suggested it might help to have a passionate sexual affair with someone older and more experienced, and asked if I enjoyed dancing.</p><p>Then he lit a long herbal cigarette, and said, “Howard baby, loosen up. Don't run with the herd. Live your life free of the stifling conventions of a petty society”. Then he looked at his watch and jumped, saying, “Christ, is that the time? I told Eleanor I'd be home by seven”.</p><p>We walked outside where he got into his wobbly Citroen, and invited me to have supper with them some time. I asked if they were still squatting in the old factory by the wharf, but he said, “No, we've moved to Coney Downs, the new Barratt housing estate”.</p><p>I can't decide if I feel better or worse after talking to Bob Fossil. On the whole, I think I feel worse.</p><p>John Nott just announced on the news that “one of our ships has been badly damaged”. I hope it is not the <em>Canberra</em>. Barry Kent's brother is on it.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 26th</strong>
</p><p>The ship that went down was the <em>Coventry</em>. I heard it on the radio while we were eating spaghetti on toast for tea. It is very sad. I am glad that my dad got turned down by the War Office.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 27th</strong>
</p><p>Bumped into Dad's friend Saboo at the library, baby-sitting Kirk as usual. Kirk chucked all the books off the shelves while I said hello to Saboo. Saboo said he would come by some day to check on Dad's progress at the canal. I didn't tell Dad – it would only make him nervous and stressed.</p><p>Got <em>Howl and Other Poems</em> by Allen Ginsberg out of the library. I don't think I could ever write a poem as good as <em>Howl</em>. I don't even think I could write a poem that long.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 28th</strong>
</p><p>I asked my parents what we were going to call the baby. Dad said it should be Mum's choice, and Mum said she can't think beyond the next feed, let alone decide on a name. I suggested we all make a list, and after the next feed, we did.</p><p><em>Mum's List</em><br/>Verity<br/>Mirabel<br/>Zoe<br/>Jade<br/>Frankie<br/>India<br/>Rosie<br/>Caitlin<br/>Ruth</p><p><em>Dad's List</em><br/>Pauline<br/>Georgina<br/>Susan<br/>May<br/>Molly<br/>Jane<br/>Annie<br/>Sarah<br/>Sylvia</p><p><em>My List</em><br/>Julie<br/>Claire<br/>Roxy<br/>Diana<br/>Vincentia<br/>Elizabeth<br/>Victoria<br/>Angela<br/>Kathleen</p><p>I only liked Ruth and Rosie from Mum's list, and Sarah and Sylvia from Dad's. Dad only liked Rosie from Mum's list, and Elizabeth from mine. Mum only liked Sylvia from Dad's list, and none of mine. She doesn't think Vincentia is a real name. I think it is beautiful. When I picture a girl named Vincentia, I imagine someone so sweet and pretty that your heart instantly melts. Vincentia Moon sounds evocative, and gives me an ache behind my ribs.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 29th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>My sister's name is Rosie Sylvia Moon. Sylvia in the middle, because she was conceived in the woods, and after the suffragette Sylvia Pankhurst. Everyone likes the Rosie part, but a lot of people think Sylvia Moon sounds funny. The registrar wrinkled his nose, and started singing, “By the light of the Sylvia Moon ….”. My mother gave him one of her hard glares, and he stopped.</p><p>We celebrated Rosie being on the official record sheet of Great Britain by going into a café and having a meal. Rosie was in a baby sling squashed up against my mother's chest. She was dead well behaved. She only woke up once, when Mum dropped a warm chip on her head, and she didn't cry. Both Mum and Rosie slept in the car on the drive home.</p><p>I forgot to send Lester a birthday card in all the excitement, so I rang him after tea. He said he spent his ninety-first birthday very quietly.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 30th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Whit Sunday</em>
</p><p>My grandparents came to Sunday dinner so Grandpa could meet Rosie. Instead of finding fault with everything Mum did, Nana kept saying, "You shouldn't be doing that, love. You need to rest. Here, let me help”. Most of the dinner was made by Nana in the end. Dad and I did menial tasks, like setting the table and chopping vegetables.</p><p>Grandpa held Rosie on his lap for ages, and called her his “little lassie”. Rosie didn't cry or complain once. Nana kept saying what a good baby Rosie is. Little do they know she can shriek the house down when she's not on her best behaviour.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 31st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Whit Monday. Spring Holiday. Bank Holiday (Scotland). Memorial Day (USA)</em>
</p><p>We have to write a description of a person we know for English and hand it in tomorrow, so I wrote about Rosie.</p><p>
  <em>Rosie is about eighteen inches long. She has got a big head with fuzzy black hair around a bald spot. Unlike the rest of our family, her eyes are green. She has soft skin and a clear complexion. Her mouth is extremely small, except when she is screaming. Then it resembles an underground cavern. She has got a wrinkled up neck like a turkey. She dresses in unisex clothes, and wears disposable nappies. She lazes about all day in a carrycot and only gets out when it is time to be fed or changed. She has got a split personality – calm one minute, screaming like a maniac the next.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She is only two weeks old, but she rules our house.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Port Stanley Airport is just outside Stanley, the capital of the Falklands Island. It was occupied by Argentinian forces during the Falklands War, and heavily bombed by Britain. However, they never quite put it out of action. The beaches around the airport are heavily mined even today, so that they are off limits.</p><p>Habitat is a British homewares store, founded in 1964 and owned by Sainsbury's. It's relatively expensive, and offers a Scandinavian modernist style of furnishings that was chic in the 1960s, but now overtaken (and arguably ruined) by IKEA.</p><p>Liberty is a luxury department store in West London, founded in 1875.  It is known for its bold and floral print fabrics, and sells fashion, beauty, and homewares, specialising in Oriental goods. A pair of pyjamas from Liberty today will set you back around 200 pounds.</p><p>The radio program interviewing a romance novelist Howard listens to is fictional, and sounds highly unlikely for Radio 4. I believe the “yukky woman” was probably Sheila Holland (1937-2000), who wrote most of her romances under the pen name Charlotte Lamb. Her books tend to have heroines who are raped or beaten by the hero, which only increases their ardour; she often has medical staff as main characters, and one of her most popular novels has a hero who owns an electronics company. Sheila Holland did indeed become very wealthy from her writing.   </p><p>Warrington is a large town in Cheshire, halfway between Liverpool and Manchester. There's no St Winifred's hospital.</p><p>The General Infirmary is the largest hospital in Leeds, about 15 minutes drive from the Moons' home. The birth of Howard's sister is fairly typical for the era (except for Howard being there). It is highly medicalised, there is only one option for pain relief, everyone is called Mr and Mrs (even though we know Pauline prefers to be called Ms Moon), and fathers are left outside the delivery room. Pauline is considered a “stubborn” patient for wanting to be in control of her own birthing experience. </p><p>Howard never seems particularly interested in mentioning his height as he grows, but he must be quite tall already to have been mistaken for his baby sister's father.</p><p>Howard's mother reads “Memoirs of a Fox-Hunting Man”, an autobiographical novel by British poet Siegfried Sassoon (1928). It is a classic of English literature. She sings “A Hard Day's Night” by The Beatles (1964), from the soundtrack of the film of the same name. The film came out when Pauline was twenty.  </p><p>There are a lot of old factories around the wharf in Leeds where people might have squatted in the 1970s and '80s (today they are trendy loft conversions). Barratt is one of the biggest home building companies in Britain, but the Coney Downs estate is fictional (partly inspired by the suburb of Harehills in Leeds).</p><p>John Nott was the Secretary of State for Defence. “HMS Coventry” was a destroyer in the Royal Navy, first launched in 1974. It was bombed and sunk during the Falklands War, with 19 of the crew dead and 30 injured.</p><p>Howard reads "Howl and Other Poems" by American Beat poet Allen Ginsberg (1956). "Howl" frankly addresses the poet's homosexuality, which may have been one of the reasons Howard is drawn to the poem, although he had earlier read and enjoyed another Beat writer, Jack Kerouac (who also had sexual relationships with men). </p><p>Howard suggests Roxy as a possibility for his sister's name, perhaps after the band Roxy Music.</p><p>The registrar makes fun of Rosie's middle name by singing a parody of “By the Light of the Silvery Moon”, a 1909 Tin Pan Alley song. </p><p>The first mass produced baby carrier was brought out in the late 1960s (the Snugli), in the 1970s the woven wrap was brought out in Germany, and in the early 1980s the first ring sling was invented. I think Rosie is probably in a woven wrap type sling.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. June 1983</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Howard receives a surprise visitor from across the pond, and finds the World Cup unusually interesting.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Tuesday 1st</strong>
</p><p>Stayed in my room tonight, bringing my Falklands campaign map up to date. I am very aware that I am living through a period of great historical portent, and I, Howard Moon, predict that the British people will rise up and force the government to resign.</p><p>It is sixty days since I last spoke with Vince.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 2nd</strong>
</p><p>Mitzi is expecting puppies. Mr and Mrs Carmichael blame the dog, and say Mitzi won't be ready for Crufts now. I think the dog is being blamed unfairly. They can't prove he is even involved.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 3rd</strong>
</p><p>Saw Queenie outside the newsagent. She was reading<em> The Morning Star</em>. We had a long talk about working-class culture. Queenie said if she were a younger woman, she would infiltrate the <em>Sun</em> newspaper, and smash the presses up!</p><p>Queenie tried to get me to join the Young Communists. I said I would think about it. I thought about it, then decided not to. The CSE examiners might get to hear about it.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 4th</strong>
</p><p>Got an airmail letter from Jack Kodiak, the American we met on holiday last year.</p><p>
  <em>18 West 33rd Street</em><br/>
<em>New York, NY 10001</em><br/>
<em>USA</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hi there Howie!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fazed, huh! Yeah well, thought I'd communicate. Been feeling kinda unzapped lately, guess Mom's sudden divorce to number five kinda unhinged me some. I mean, come on, at least give me a chance to say goodbye to the guy! But! Jack Kodiak ain't gonna sit around and take no more adult crap, no sir, Howie. I'm coming over to visit you some. I got finance, I got documentation, I got nothing keeping me here. Soon I'll be on a flight, arriving in London Tuesday. And then wowee, I get to see your olde British cottage in the ancient Yorkshire region.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We'll promenade ancient ruins. We'll explore Shakespeare Land. Huh?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>See you Tuesday, buddy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jack Kodiak</em>
</p><p>After reading it and rereading it, I'm pretty sure it means Jack Kodiak is coming to see us on Tuesday! I wish I hadn't just nodded and smiled when he asked if I lived in a thatched cottage.</p><p>I dreaded telling my parents. My mother said he ruined our holiday in Wales with his constant yapping, and we have a new baby in the house. However, she seemed to be in a good mood so I told her about Jack. She rolled her eyes and pressed her lips into a tight line, but she didn't go mad. Maybe having a baby has improved her temper.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 5th</strong>
</p><p>Changed my first nappy tonight.</p><p>Tomorrow I am going to try doing it with my eyes open.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 6th</strong><br/>
<em>Trinity Sunday. Full Moon</em>
</p><p>How is it that my mother can change Rosie's yukky nappies and at the same time smile, or even laugh? I nearly fainted when I tried doing it without a clothes peg on my nose. Perhaps women have poorly formed nasal passages.</p><p>I wonder if any research has been done on it? I may do it myself, if I manage to pass O Level Biology.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 7th</strong><br/>
<em>Bank Holiday (Republic of Ireland)</em>
</p><p>My mother's gone right off me since Rosie was born. She was never a particularly attentive mother – I always had to clean my own shoes, even when I was six. But lately I have been feeling emotionally deprived. If I turn out to be mentally deranged in adult life, it will all be my mother's fault.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 8th</strong>
</p><p>We set the camp bed up in my room, filled the pantry with tinned pumpkin pie filling and boxes of grits, stocked the freezer with corn on the cob and pot roasts, cleaned the bathroom to American hygiene standards, and even brushed the dog, but Jack Kodiak did not arrive.</p><p>We watched the 9 pm news, but no airliners had crashed into the Atlantic, and at 11 pm we took off our best clothes and went to bed,</p><p><em>5 am:</em> Jack Kodiak is here. I'm writing up my diary while he goes to the bathroom, which I think means the loo. He got a taxi from Heathrow (200 miles away!). The taxi driver found our house straight away, but Jack made the poor bloke drive all round our suburb, looking for a thatched cottage. Eventually the taxi driver drove back to our house and got my father out of bed. Jack paid the worn-out taxi driver with dollar bills.</p><p>He has been singing Appalachian mountain songs for nearly an hour. I tried to tell him it would wake Rosie up, but the minute he stopped, she started crying, so he went and sang over her cot until she went to sleep.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 9th</strong>
</p><p>Jack made a slight faux pas at breakfast this morning. He was saying what a cute baby Rosie is, then he asked, “Hey Pauline, you were living in Sheffield before, right? So you and George must have done the deed while you were in Wales, huh? How long was it before you realised you were knocked up?”.</p><p>My father looked coldly at him, and my mother said, “We don't usually talk about personal matters at breakfast, Jack. Not in England”.</p><p>He said, “Wow, that great British reserve I've heard so much about”. He seemed really happy, like he'd found a whole village of thatched cottages.</p><p>After school I took him to meet Lester and Queenie. He was beside himself with joy. On the way back, he kept saying, “Jesus! A genuine old Beatnik and an old Commie! It was like visiting a living history museum!”. When we got home, he went through my jazz record collection and went mad with excitement , listening to Miles Davis and John Coltrane.</p><p>I went to bed at 10 pm, worn out from his constant enthusiasm, but he kept me awake until midnight, sharing his thoughts about life. Most of his thoughts were obscene.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 10th</strong>
</p><p>Jack said this afternoon he wants to meet my "girlfriend". I said we'd broken up, but Jack wouldn't listen. He just said, "But that doesn't stop <em>me</em> from meeting her, for Christ's sake".</p><p>Nana rang up and asked if they could come to tea, but I told her we had an American in the house, so she said they wouldn't bother. She said, "We're just too old to cope with Americans, Howard". I know exactly how she feels.</p><p>Jack found out Vince's name from my parents, then dialled his number from the pop-up phone index on the hall table. Then he rang him up and invited himself round for supper! Jack returned later with a red burn mark on his hand. I asked him how he got along with Vince, and he said, "Oh, great, great. There was just the teensiest misunderstanding, but other than that, we got along like a house on fire".</p><p>Then Vince rang me to complain that I'd set a perverted sex maniac onto him, and would I mind keeping my creep friends to myself? I apologised, and said Jack inviting himself over was entirely his idea. I asked if Vince was alright, and he said, "I can take care of myself, thanks. Let's just say he got a hot hair straightener on his busy hands”. Then he hung up.</p><p>Even though he was in a bad mood, it was really nice to hear Vince's voice, and know that he felt he could phone me if he needed to talk.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 11th</strong>
</p><p>I took Jack to see how an English comprehensive school works today. The only previous knowledge he had of English schools was reading<em> Tom Brown's School Days</em>, so Jack was a bit disappointed to find that ritual floggings and roastings had been done away with.</p><p>Mr Dock, my English teacher, asked Jack to give a short talk on his impressions of England. Jack wasn't a bit shy. He went to the front of the class, spat his chewing gum into Mr Dock's wicker basket, and said, "Well England's great, cute, real fine. Jesus, it's green! I mean, like real green! Makes me think of all the tiny little animal penises in the grass. I guess the coolest thing about it though is your nubile little princesses, ya know with the perfect china doll skin and English rose complexion? [Here he stared right at Vince]. They may look like icebergs on the surface, but underneath they are feisty little firecrackers, yes sir! I mean, those kittens have claws, baby. Jesus, they sure get a fellow warmed up and all". [Here Vince gave Jack a scornfully satisfied look, and tossed his hair]. He drivelled on for another ten minutes! I was glad when the bell rang.</p><p>I am reading <em>The Quiet American</em> by Graham Greene, a work of fiction.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 12th</strong>
</p><p>We took Jack to the funfair on our recreation ground. For once he looked a bit subdued. He said, "I guess Disneyland has kinda given me a false expectation-of-enjoyment level".</p><p>Jack took my mother on the Dodgems while Dad and I took care of Rosie, then I went on the Flying Whiplash with my father. I was dumbstruck with terror, so was my father. I was okay until I looked down and saw the moron working the machinery. He looked like a Neanderthal in denim, and I had put my life in his clumsy paws!</p><p>My father had aged ten years by the time he got off the Flying Whiplash. But when my mother asked him if he had enjoyed himself, he said, "It were grand".</p><p>Rosie has become devoted to Jack. If she cries or whinges, all he has to do is pick her up and she stops straight away. When he holds her in his arms, she goes straight to sleep, making contented little noises. Jack calls her his “little angel bubba girl”, and sings her sickly lullabies about big rock candy mountains and pretty horses. He has alienated my sister's affections when she is too young and naïve to know any better.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 13th</strong><br/>
<em>First after Trinity</em>
</p><p>A telegram came early this morning from America. It was addressed to KODIAK, but I opened it in case his mother had dropped dead or something.</p><p>BABY STOP COME HOME TO MOM STOP WE MUST TRY TO INTERACT POSITIVELY STOP HOW ARE THE BRITS TREATING YOU STOP WIRE ME AND GIVE ME YOUR ARRIVAL AT KENNEDY STOP I GOT A NEW SHRINK STOP HE IS PORTUGUESE STOP ETHEL GLITTERSTEINER SWEARS HE CURED HER KLEPTOMANIA STOP HOW IS THE WEATHER STOP IT IS AWFUL HOT HERE STOP BUT IT IS NOT THE HEAT SO MUCH AS THE HUMIDITY STOP SAY HELLO TO PAULINE GEORGE AND HOWARD FOR ME STOP HEY DID THEY JUST HAVE ANOTHER KID STOP WAS IT A BOY OR A GIRL STOP I LOVE YOU BABY STOP MOM</p><p><em>11 pm:</em> Jack has gone home to Mom. The next time he runs away from home, I hope he goes to Cape Horn or the Arctic Circle, or anywhere away from me.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 14th</strong><br/>
<em>Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>I was woken up at 1 am, 2.30 am, and 4 am by Rosie screaming.</p><p>I got up at 6 am and listened to a farming program on Radio Four. Some old rustic gasbag was drivelling on about geese farming in Essex. When Dad got up he whispered to me to be very quiet or I'd wake the baby. At 8.30 I went into my parents' bedroom to say goodbye to Mum, and found Rosie fast asleep in bed with my mother. This is is strictly forbidden by the baby books.</p><p>I checked that Rosie could breathe properly, then kissed Mum's cheek and went to school. I tried hard to concentrate, but I was very tired for some reason.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 15th</strong>
</p><p>The war ended yesterday when Argentina surrendered, but they still say they own the islands. It feels like a very unsatisfying victory.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 16th</strong>
</p><p>It is time I was done with childish things, so I have packed up all my <em>Rupert Bear</em> annuals into an Anchor butter box, and put them outside my bedroom door. I hope my parents take the hint and stop talking to me as if I were a moron. Anyone who understands how the International Monetary Fund works (we did it in Maths last week) deserves to be treated with more respect.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 17th</strong>
</p><p>My father is getting fed up with his volunteer job as a beck renovation supervisor. He says that no sooner do Baz, Daz, Gaz, Kev, Jez and Tez, his gang of workers, clear a section of beck than some slob comes along in the night and tip's a month's worth of rubbish on the virgin bank.</p><p>The gang are getting a bit disheartened, and morale is low. I offered to set up a vigilante group of volunteers from school, but Dad says anyone who has dragged a mattress 300 yards in the pitch dark isn't going to be put off by a gaggle of spotty schoolboys.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 18th</strong>
</p><p>I have written to Mr Wogan at the BBC and sent him another poem. I chose Denmark as my theme, as I am quite the expert on the Danish fur industry.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Mr Wogan,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I had a few minutes to spare, so I thought I would pen you a letter and also send you a new poem, “Denmark”, inspired by my researches into the nation during Geography lessons at school. It (the poem) is in the modernist school of poetry, in other words it isn't about flowers and stuff, and it doesn't rhyme. If you can't understand it, could you pass it on to someone who can explain it to you? Any modern poet will do.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Howard Moon (aged 15)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>PS Would you mind mentioning my nana on air? Her name is Edna May Moon, and she is a seventy-seven year old lady from Wakefield in Yorkshire. She has arthritis, and listens to your show every day.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Denmark</em>
</p><p>Denmark! Land of difficult spelling<br/>
Hiding your beauty behind strange vowels<br/>
Land of eternal twilights, endless winters, and lines through Os.<br/>
A peninsula jutted into the sea<br/>
With a mermaid gazing out across the water<br/>
Dreaming of a prince<br/>
Who could never return her love.<br/>
One day I shall sojourn to your islands<br/>
I live in northern England<br/>
But!<br/>
Denmark! My soul resides in your aurora <strike>boralis</strike> <strike>borelas</strike> <strike>borealis</strike><br/>
Northern lights.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 19th</strong>
</p><p>Leroy and I went for a bike ride today. We set out to look for a wild piece of countryside so that we could get back to nature and stuff. We pedalled for miles, but all the fields were fenced or walled off, and all the woods seemed to have been turned into parks or reserves or golf courses, and it was hard to find any countryside that was truly wild at all, so we could only get near to something similar to nature.</p><p>On the way back we had a philosophical discussion about war. Leroy is dead keen on it. It is his ambition to join the army. He said, “It's a good life, and when I come back to civvy street, I'll have a trade”.</p><p>I thought, “What, as a contract killer?”. But I didn't say anything. I think most army cadets forget that real soldiers have to kill people.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 20th</strong><br/>
<em>Second after Trinity. Father's Day</em>
</p><p>We had Sunday dinner at my grandparents, roast lamb with fresh mint sauce made from the window box. The fuss Nana and Grandpa make over Rosie is unbelievable. They said they would love me just as much after the baby arrived, but ever since she's been born it's been nothing but Rosie this and Rosie that. Nana says that there is just something special about girl babies.</p><p>Today I can report that Miss Rosie Sylvia Moon smiled for the first time. The recipient of the smile was the dog.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 21st</strong><br/>
<em>Summer Solstice. New Moon</em>
</p><p>My father has hogged the television for over a week, watching the World Cup. When I asked if I could watch a BBC 2 program about the Wordsworth museum, he refused to let me switch over, and sat in the dark watching France vs Kuwait. I asked my mother to arbitrate, but she refused, so I went to my room and watched the program on my crummy old black and white television while bringing my Falklands campaign map completely up to date. Peace was declared in the Falkland Islands yesterday.</p><p>I went downstairs just in time to see a dead good pitch invasion by a bloke in an Arab head-dress. I don't mind watching an interesting pitch invasion. Better than the football, really.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 22nd</strong>
</p><p>Mr Bainbridge summoned the whole school into the assembly hall this morning. Even the teachers who are atheists were forced to attend.</p><p>I was dead nervous. It's ages since I broke a school rule, but Bainbridge makes you feel dead guilty somehow. When the doors were closed and the whole school was lined up in rows, Bainbridge nodded to Mrs Figges, who was sitting at the piano, and she started playing <em>The Hallelujah Chorus</em>. It was quite impressive. Although I think it was time the piano tuner was called in again.</p><p>When Mrs Figges was still, Mr Bainbridge walked up to his lectern, paused, then said, “Yesterday is a day that will go down in history”. He paused long enough for a rumour that he had resigned to travel along the rows before shouting, “Quiet!”, and continued. “Last night at three minutes past nine a Future King of England was born”.</p><p>All the girls said, “Ooh! Lady Di's 'ad it”. Claire Neilson shouted, “How much did he weigh?”.</p><p>Mr Bainbridge smiled and ignored her.</p><p>Julie Trafford yelled, “And how much will he <em>cost</em>?”.</p><p>Suddenly Mr Bainbridge developed good hearing, and ordered her out of the assembly hall. He dismissed the school after giving us a talk on what a good job the Royal Family do for British exports.</p><p>Dad is hoping the new prince is named George, like him. Mum says it's time the Royal Family came up to date and called the prince Liam or Brett.</p><p>Scotland are out of the World Cup. They drew 2-2 with Russia. Dad called the Russian team “those Commie bastards”. He was not a bit gracious in defeat.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 23rd</strong>
</p><p>I saw Vince sitting by himself at school, reading a football magazine. I said, “What about that match between France and Kuwait? Weird, wasn't it?”. He said he didn't think I was that interested in football, and I said, “Well, the World Cup is a bit different”.</p><p>We talked about the World Cup for a few minutes (I was surprised to discover I'd picked up quite a lot from listening to my father), and then Bainbridge walked past us, barking, “Noir! What is that nonsense you have in your hair?”.</p><p>“Red and white ribbon for the World Cup, sir”, Vince replied.</p><p>“Take it out, and go to my office <em>now</em>!”, ordered Bainbridge. “For a start, hair decorations are not permitted to be worn. This is a school, not a fashion show. And boys don't wear ribbon in their hair! Ever!”.</p><p>Vince removed the ribbon, and followed Bainbridge to his office. I tried to give him a supportive smile, but it must have come out wrong, because he looked at me as if he thought I was happy he got into trouble.</p><p>I put a note on his peg in the cloakroom:</p><p>
  <em>Vince,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hate the way Bainbridge spoke to you. You did nothing wrong except celebrate your country's sporting prowess. I hope you aren't in too much trouble.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Howard Moon</em>
</p><p>
  <em>PS I thought the ribbon looked pretty in your hair.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 24th</strong><br/>
<em>Midsummer Day (Scottish Quarter Day)</em>
</p><p>Found a note on my peg at break this morning:</p><p>
  <em>Howard,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thanks, I just had to sit in his office and write lines. It was more the way he said evrything to me that made me feel horible. He said a lot of bad stuf when I was in his office.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Vince</em>
</p><p>
  <em>PS That's nice of you to say. I think my hair looks better now its a bit longer.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 25th</strong>
</p><p>Our usual postman has been replaced by another one called Alan Elliot. We know his name because he knocked on the door and introduced himself. He is no run-of-the-mill postman, he has a moustache that curls up at the ends, and wears a pith helmet with his uniform.</p><p>He invited himself into the kitchen and asked to be introduced to Rosie. When she was brought over, he looked straight at her, and said, “How do you, pretty lady?” in a dead posh accent. Rosie gazed at him with enormous eyes, and gave an excited squeal. Then he gave the dog a piece of meat, and said, “We shall be friends now, shan't we good fellow?”. The dog fawned on him and licked his hand.</p><p>Alan refused a cup of instant coffee, saying he only drank freshly-ground coffee beans grown in the hills of Kenya, then handed my father the post, saying, “A bill from the ever-ravenous electricity company I fear, Mr Moon”. He tipped his pith helmet to my mother and left.</p><p>I went off to school. On the way I saw Alan come out of the Singhs' house eating a chapati.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 26th</strong>
</p><p>My guitar practice has completely gone to pot since Rosie was born. Every time I try to play, my parents go mad and say I will wake Rosie up, or stop her from going to sleep, or make her cry. They don't seem to realise that I will never become the world's greatest slap-bass jazz-funk guitarist if I never get to actually play electric guitar. I am beginning to despair that my musical future is doomed. </p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 27th</strong><br/>
<em>Third after Trinity</em>
</p><p>My grandparents came round this morning to take me to church again. I can't go on with this charade. I will have to tell my grandparents that I have become an agnostic atheist. If there <em>is</em> a God, then He/She must know I am a hypocrite. If there isn't, then of course it doesn't matter.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 28th</strong>
</p><p>My thing is 17 cm extended, and only about 6 cm in its unwoken state. “Donkey” Dawkins of 5P says his is longer than a ruler, yet he is only a week older than me. I have asked him to verify his claim with supporting evidence, but he only said, “Push off, ya pervy poofter”.</p><p>So until I see it with my own eyes, I shall reserve judgement.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 29th</strong>
</p><p>Usual last-minute discussion about where to go for our summer holidays. I suggested the Lake District. I wanted to see if living there for a bit would help my poetry.</p><p>My father suggested Blackpool. My mother suggested Majorca. Nobody could agree, so we each wrote our choice on a scrap of paper and put it in a Tupperware container. None of us trusted the others to draw, so my mother went and fetched Mrs Singh.</p><p>Mrs Singh and all the little Singhs came and stood in our kitchen. Mrs Singh asked, “Why do you have this procedure, Mrs Moon? Cannot your husband decide?”. My mother explained that my father did not have a superior status in our house.</p><p>Mrs Singh drew a piece of paper from the container. It said <em>Blackpool</em>. Worse luck!</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 30th</strong>
</p><p>I was hit on the head with a cricket ball today. It was my own fault. When I saw it coming towards me, I closed my eyes and ran in the opposite direction. I am at home in bed, waiting to see if concussion sets in.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Howard's prediction was incorrect. The Thatcher government became more popular after winning the Falklands War, and was returned with an increased majority at the 1983 election. However, the military dictatorship which had ruled Argentina since 1976 faced mounting public opposition after losing the war, and relinquished power in 1983. So Howard was right about the people rising up and forcing the government to resign, but got the country wrong.</p><p>The “Sun” is a tabloid newspaper aimed at a working-class readership. It was vaguely left-wing until it was bought by Rupert Murdoch in 1969, and by 1982 had become solidly pro-Thatcher and anti-Labour. It was an enthusiastic supporter of the Falklands War.  </p><p>Jack Kodiak seems to have moved (perhaps because of his mother's marriage to a fifth husband), as his address is nowhere near Central Park. The address is in Koreatown – I don't know if that's a clue to his next stepfather's heritage, although at this time it was only just beginning to be known as a Korean neighbourhood. Another stepfather suddenly disappearing is definitely looking a bit suspicious now.</p><p>Howard reads “The Quiet American” by British novelist Graham Greene (1955). Part of the novel revolves around a love triangle not unlike that between Howard, Jack, and Vince. He refers to “Tom Brown's School Days” by Thomas Hughes (1857), which began the genre of school novels and features Victorian-typical bullying and punishments.</p><p>Jack Kodiak sings American folk songs such as “The Big Rock Candy Mountain” and “All The Pretty Horses” to Rosie. They're not sickly at all, but Howard is grumpy and jealous. Or possibly Jack sings them in a sickly kind of way.</p><p>The radio program Howard listens to on Radio 4 is “Farming Week”, which was on at 6.10 am, and broadcast from south-west England. </p><p>Anchor is a brand of butter from New Zealand, founded in 1886. </p><p>Parents and babies co-sleeping was advised against at this time, for fear of harm coming to the baby. (To some extent justified, since some people have killed or injured their babies while rolling over in bed, or squashing the baby between them.) Of course it happened all the time, because when babies cry and won't stop, parents will naturally do anything that helps. </p><p>The Falklands War ended on June 14 1982 because Argentina surrendered. However, they did not cease their claim on the islands, which continues to this day. The war forced Britain to pay a lot more attention to the Falklands, so as a result, things overall improved in the islands.</p><p>Nana's middle name of May was one of the names suggested by George for his daughter.</p><p>Howard's poem refers to the statue of Hans Christian Anderson's Little Mermaid, which looks over the harbour in Copenhagen. It is believed that Anderson wrote the story as a love letter to a male friend he pined for and adored, but who didn't return his feelings. </p><p>To the north of Leeds are an array of nature reserves, wooded parks, and golf courses, as well as farmland. There is no real wilderness in England, with natural beauty spots being carefully managed as national parks and so on. This only just seems to be dawning on city-dweller Howard.  </p><p>For Rosie to smile at the age of just over a month seems too early. I think it must have been what they call a “reflex smile”, and her first genuine smile is at least two weeks away.</p><p>The BBC 2 program Howard watches is “Museum of the Year”. That week, the museums being covered were Dove Cottage and the Wordsworth Museum in the Lake District, both dedicated to the life and work of poet William Wordsworth. </p><p>The 1982 FIFA World Cup was held in Spain from June 13 to July 11. It was won by Italy. The match between France and Kuwait took place on June 21; it was Kuwait's debut in the Cup. There was a bizarre moment when the Kuwaiti team stopped dead while France scored a goal. The Kuwaitis claimed they thought they heard a whistle from the stands, but the referee ignored their pleas. Prince Fahid, the Kuwaiti FA president, came down from the stands to argue with the ref – this is the “pitch invasion” from the “bloke in Arab head-dress” Howard mentions. Incredibly, the ref gave in to the prince's demands and disallowed the goal, although France still won 4-1. The ref was banned, and the prince fined 8000 pounds.   </p><p>The new prince, son of Prince Charles and his wife Diana, was born in London at 9.03 pm on June 21. His name, William Arthur Philip Louis, was announced on June 28. (He weighed just over 7 lb). Howard's dad's wish for a prince named George like himself was granted in 2013, when Prince William's first son was named George. Pauline is on the right track when she wishes the prince could be called something modern like Liam – Liam is an Irish nickname for William.  </p><p>Alan quotes from “Hamlet” when meeting Rosie (it's how Claudius greets Ophelia).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. July 1982</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Howard goes on a blind date with a very fishy character. A crisis brings Howard and Vince closer together. Howard and his family leave for their annual summer holiday.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Thursday 1st</strong><br/>
<em>Dominion Day (Canada)</em>
</p><p>Leroy came round after school, and we had a long talk in my bedroom. I told him how much I missed Vince and how lonely I felt without him.</p><p>Leroy said his cousin is staying with them, called Gregg (that's how he spells it), and when he told Gregg about me, he seemed quite interested. Leroy said he would organise a blind date for me, so I asked what Gregg was like. Leroy said he is a bit older than us, seventeen with his own car, and is from Cornwall. He said Gregg likes funk music, and is doing Art and Domestic Science for A Levels at college.</p><p>I asked if I could see a photo of Gregg, but Leroy said it wouldn't be a blind date then. He's so literal! He'll end up working with computers if he's not careful.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 2</strong>
</p><p>Mum looks dead nice again now that her figure is nearly back to normal and she is going to the hairdresser once a week. The purple dye has grown out, and her hair is no longer stubble, thank goodness! In fact, she is back to her old cocky self, bossing me and Dad about, and certain she is right about everything.</p><p>I haven't told her or Dad about my blind date with Gregg tomorrow afternoon, in case they use it as an opportunity for mockery. I'm meeting Gregg at Leroy's, so if he turns out to be a lunatic I can make an excuse and go straight home.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 3rd</strong>
</p><p><em>12.15 pm:</em> Got up at 6 am, I was too nervous to sleep. I started making a cup of tea, but my father came out and furiously whispered to me not to make any noise or Rosie would wake up. So I went for a walk in the play park, but gave up because it was full of broken glass and dog mess. I waited for the shops to open, and bought a box of chocolates. Went home, had a bath, washed my hair, cut my nails etc. Then I put all my clothes on the bed. It was a pitiful collection.</p><p>At 10.30 I rang Leroy and asked what to wear. He told me to dress casually, but make an effort. I looked at my clothes again with despair, and in the end decided on my old brown elephant cords, a patterned shirt with a pointy collar, and rust brown cardigan. At the last minute I added a straw hat, in case we go outdoors. I don't want to get sunburnt. I hope Gregg thinks this is alright. I hope he isn't too old for me. Wish I could stop feeling nervous.</p><p>Must stop, it's time to go.</p><p><em>6 pm:</em> That is the first and last time I will ever go on a blind date. When I knocked on the door, a thin bloke with curly black hair answered it, his intensely blue eyes boring into me. I said, “Hello, I'm Howard”. He answered, “Hi, I'm Gregg. Pleased to meet you”.</p><p>Leroy was out. Typical!</p><p>I suggested we go to the lake, as it's not far and they rent out boats during the summer. Gregg stared at me with his mad looking eyes and said he grew up in a lake. Surely he meant <em>on</em> a lake? But perhaps English is not their first language in Cornwall.</p><p>He grabbed the chocolates from me and started eating them while telling me to jump straight in the car. I was convinced I was going to be kidnapped, especially when Gregg force fed me a coffee swirl chocolate. I wondered if I should jump out of the car like they do in films, but thought it might hurt a lot. I hesitantly put my hand on the door handle, but Gregg leaned over and clutched my arm.</p><p>“Easy there, fuzzy little man peach”, he said. Gregg is much stronger than he looks.</p><p>When we got to the lake, I did all the rowing. Even though he's older, Gregg isn't as big as me. I tried to talk about neutral topics, such as the Danish fur industry, but Gregg was very forward. He said straight out that he liked me, and asked what I thought of him. I stammered that I didn't rightly know. He asked me to make an assessment. I politely said he seemed like a gentleman. Which he does – he paid for the boat, and he was wearing a suit and tie, so he got dressed up for me.</p><p>Gregg seemed to think that meant I liked him back, and sort of lunged at me. I tried to get away, and in the process we both fell out of the boat. Gregg grabbed me, and it felt as if he was pulling me down into the lake, so I started kicking and screaming, but he was actually trying to save me. He pulled me to shore with his powerful arms, and while I was coughing up water on the grass, he swam back to get the boat. He's a really amazing swimmer. He told me later he'd been swimming in the lake near his house since he was a baby.</p><p>I bleakly thanked Gregg for rescuing me, even though it was his fault I fell in the water in the first place. We were both sopping wet, and I'd lost my hat in the lake. Gregg asked if I'd like a coffee to warm up, so we squelched our way to the café, where we had to sit outside because we were too wet to go in. It was actually okay when we were just sitting talking. Gregg told me about his funk record collection, and I said I was really into jazz-funk fusion. He actually does know a lot about music. When we'd dried off a bit Gregg drove me home, saying “Thank you for the nice boat times”.</p><p>I rang Leroy when I got home and complained that Gregg was a bit scary, and had tipped us both out of the boat. Leroy said that Gregg had already complained to him that I was a dead loss, and that he was getting sick of going on dates with people who play games, and not even getting a snog.</p><p>Leroy said he is giving up matchmaking.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 4th</strong><br/>
<em>Fourth after Trinity. American Independence Day</em>
</p><p>I was just starting to eat my Sunday dinner when Lester Corncrake rang and asked me to go round urgently. I bolted my spaghetti Bolognese down as quick as I could, and ran round to Lester's.</p><p>Sabre was standing at the door looking worried. I gave him a dog choc and hurried inside. Lester was sitting in the lounge in his wheelchair, and the television was turned off so I knew something serious had happened. He said, “Queenie's gone all catawampus”.</p><p>I went into their tiny bedroom. Queenie was lying on the big saggy bed looking gruesome (she hadn't put her rouge or lipstick on). She said, “You're a good lad to come round, Howard”. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she had pains in her chest, like red-hot needles.</p><p>I asked Lester if he'd phoned a doctor, but he said Queenie is scared of doctors. I rang my mother and asked for her advice. She said she'd come round. While we waited for her I made a cup of tea and fed Sabre and made Lester a peanut butter sandwich.</p><p>My mother and father arrived, with Rosie in her carrycot. My mother phoned for an ambulance. It was a good job they came, because while we were waiting for the ambulance, Queenie went a bit strange and started asking where her ration book was. Lester held her hand, and told her she was acting like a nutty old broad.</p><p>Queenie wouldn't go in the ambulance until she had rouge on, so I ran into the bedroom and found the rouge in a little drawer on the dressing table. My mother took Rosie and went in the ambulance with Queenie, while my father and I stayed behind to comfort Lester. Two hours later my mother rang to say Queenie had had a stroke, and would be in hospital for ages.</p><p>Lester said, “What am I going to do without my little girl to help me?”.</p><p>Little girl! Queenie is seventy-seven and about fifteen stone!</p><p>Lester wouldn't come home with us. He said the house belongs to Queenie, and he has to protect her property.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 5th</strong><br/>
<em>Independence Day Holiday (USA)</em>
</p><p>At school today, I asked Vince if I could talk to him. I told him about Queenie, how she is sort of awake but can't speak. Vince started crying, and said, “I never went to see her enough, and now she's gone”. I put my arm around him, and said she wasn't gone, just in hospital. He said he would get Ivan and Tania to take him to see her, and said thanks for letting him know.</p><p>My mother has been with Lester all day, doing his cooking and cleaning while he watches Rosie for her. My father said he will call in every day when he finishes at the beck. I am going to take Sabre for his walk every morning and evening.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 6th</strong><br/>
<em>Full Moon</em>
</p><p>Lester's social worker, Katie Booth, has been to see him. She wants Lester to go back to the Sunshine Lane Residential Care Facility temporarily. Lester said he would prefer to be dead.</p><p>Katie Booth is coming again tomorrow to check Lester's lie that my mother and I are providing twenty-four hour in-home care. Queenie is still very poorly. My mother said Vince is visiting her every day after school.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 7th</strong>
</p><p>Katie Booth sat in the living room, rolling a cigarette with one hand and taking notes with the other. Her long greasy hair kept falling in her eyes. She said Lester was stubborn and suffering from slight senile dementia, and that what he needed was to see a consultant psychogeriatrician.</p><p>My mother got dead mad and shouted, “What he needs is a day and night nurse”.</p><p>Katie Booth went red, and said, “I know the system stinks, but there's nothing I can do”.</p><p>My mother said, “You could wash your hair, dear. You'd feel much better without it straggling in your face”.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 8th</strong>
</p><p>I left a note on Vince's peg today. It said:</p><p>
  <em>Dear Vince,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know you've been visiting Queenie a lot, but it would be nice if you could visit Lester some time. He is on his own, although I have been going round and doing what I can. He is dead sad. Can you think of something to cheer him up?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours, as ever,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Howard</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 9th</strong>
</p><p>Today was brilliant. School broke up for eight fabbo weeks. The something <em>even</em> <em>better</em> happened tonight.</p><p>I was in the middle of ironing Lester's underpants when Vince walked in, carrying a jar of peanut butter. I was transfixed. He gets more beautiful every day. Lester cheered up no end when he heard Vince's voice. He sent me off to make some tea. I could hardly keep my hands still. I felt as if I'd received an electric shock to the heart. I looked yearningly at Vince as I handed him his cup. And he looked yearningly back at me!!!!!!</p><p>Vince had brought Blossom's old halter and leash for Lester to touch and hold. He kept stroking them and saying what a good goat Blossom was. Lester droned on and on about all the goats he had cared for when he was a boy growing up on a farm.</p><p>At 9:30 I washed Lester, took him to the toilet, and put him to bed. Vince and I sat by the electric fire until we heard Lester start snoring, then we fell into each other's arms with little sighs and moans. We stayed like that until the clock struck 10 pm. I didn't have any erotic thoughts. I just felt dead calm and comfortable, as if I had found the place I was meant to be for the rest of my life.</p><p>On the way home I asked Vince why he still loved me. He said he did everything he could not to, but he just couldn't help it. I feel the same way.</p><p>It has just come on the late news that a man was found in the Queen's bedroom this morning. Radio Four said the man was an intruder, and previously unknown to the Queen. My father said, “That's her story”.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 10th</strong>
</p><p>My father took Lester to visit Queenie, so I had to do the shopping at Budgens. My mother gave me thirty euros, and told me to buy enough food to last for five days. In our last Domestic Science lesson, Mrs Appleyard taught us how to make cheap meals with maximum nourishment, so I bought lots of fresh vegetables and dried peas and lentils. How I got it all home I'll never know. The brown carrier bags broke, and potatoes went everywhere.</p><p>My mother didn't thank me when I handed her fifteen euros change. She just whined about how there was no frozen black forest gateau or tinned peas etc. She went mad when she saw I hadn't bought a white sandwich loaf. I pointed out she had all the ingredients to make her own bread. She said, “No, <em>you</em> have all the ingredients!”.</p><p>Spent all evening bashing dough about, then chucking it into tins. I don't know what I did wrong. I opened the oven door to check on it every five minutes, but it wouldn't rise.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 11th</strong><br/>
<em>Fifth after Trinity</em>
</p><p>Nana says I should have kept the oven door shut.</p><p>Mum took Rosie to see Queenie, so I made Sunday dinner. My father refused to eat the nutritious breast of lamb stew I cooked. He went to the pub and had a microwaved mince and onion pie and crinkle-cut chips. He is asking for a coronary. Vince came to dinner and liked the stew, anyway.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 12th</strong><br/>
<em>Anniversary of the Battle of the Boyne (Northern Ireland)</em>
</p><p>Brainbox Henderson has started a youth club poetry magazine. I have submitted some of my juvenilia, plus a more recent mature poem called:</p><p>
  <em>Howl of the Modern Poor: A Ginsbergian Ode</em>
</p><p>I saw three million of my generation destroyed by unemployment, hungry despairing ragged,<br/>
dragging themselves to the Job Centre at 8.30 am searching for chimerical positions,<br/>
drowsyheaded parents pushing prams filled with pasty babies with hacking coughs,<br/>
kept awake all night sunken-eyed by their children's cries and fear of the future,<br/>
young mothers drawing on number six, trying to make money stretch like elastic,<br/>
young fathers queuing to pay fines, wondering why their poverty deserves punishment,<br/>
studded youths toiling, chain-ganged, enslaved to the machinery of a broken system,<br/>
filling their nasal passages and shutting down their minds with the sweet fumes of adhesive,<br/>
old people watching life pass by the plate glass windows of their council houses,<br/>
waiting for their greasy-haired social workers to condemn them to the prison house of care.<br/>
What soft-voiced harpy in pale blue with rinse-set shattered their lives? Thatcher! Thatcher!<br/>
Nightmare of Thatcher! Soulless Thatcher! They all ruined themselves for Thatcher's scheme.</p><p>Vince read it. He said it is a work of genius.</p><p>I have sent a copy to Lester Corncrake. He is always going on about Ginsberg.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 13th</strong>
</p><p>Brainbox Henderson showed me Barry Kent's pathetic entry for the poetry competition. Last time Kent was in juvenile detention, someone taught him to read and write, so now he thinks he is a poet and is convinced he is going to win the first prize of €5. It is called “Tulips”.</p><p>Nice, red,<br/>
Tall, stiff,<br/>
In a vase,<br/>
On a table,<br/>
In a room,<br/>
In our house.</p><p>According to Henderson, Kent's poem shows Japanese cultural influences. How stupid can you get? The nearest Barry Kent has been to Japanese culture is sitting on the pillion of a stolen Honda.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 14th</strong><br/>
<em>Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>I have taken Sabre for his four mile walk every morning and evening, but I just couldn't face it tonight. I hate the way people cross the road to avoid us. Sabre hasn't bitten anyone for ages, but he always <em>looks as if he is about to</em>. Even other Alsatians flatten themselves against walls and whine when they see Sabre approaching. I wish Queenie was better. She is proud to be seen walking with Sabre. She says he makes her feel safe.</p><p>Mitzi gave birth to four half-spaniel, half-mongrel puppies with the dog's shaggy hair and brown eyes. The Carmichaels are threatening legal action against the dog.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 15th</strong><br/>
<em>St Swithin's Day</em>
</p><p>Ivan and Tania took Lester to see Queenie this evening, so Vince and I spent two brillo hours at his place watching <em>Rocky I</em> on video. Vince says he knows all about boxing, having lived in a boxing gym when he was homeless. He said he could train me up until I was a boxing champion. He showed me a few punches, and we sparred for a while, but then Vince did a wrestling hold, and we ended up lying on the floor with our arms around each other. We watched the rest of the film like that.</p><p>When the film ended we talked about our futures. Vince said he going to art school in London when he is sixteen, even if he doesn't pass his CSEs. Ivan and Tania will pay for it, and arrange for him to stay with a foster family in London during term time. I said I thought we were going to stay at school together, but Vince said he will come back in the holidays, and when school is finished we can go to college together, and then get jobs at the same place.</p><p>He said it would only be for two years. That seems like forever. I didn't say anything though, because I don't want to stuff things up with Vince when we only just got back together.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 16th</strong>
</p><p><em>5.30 pm:</em> Grandpa has just rung, asking if Dad was home yet. I reminded him that Dad works at the beck, and calls in on Lester on his way home every night. Grandpa said, "Thanks, we'll come round tomorrow afternoon. I just wanted to talk to George about something", in a sad sort of voice.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 17th</strong>
</p><p>My grandparents came for tea. Afterwards Grandpa asked Dad to show him the beck which he'd been trying to clean up and beautify, so while Nana cooed over Rosie, Dad drove Grandpa and me to the beck so Grandpa could see the progress he'd made.</p><p>"It's mucky enough, George", Grandpa said when he surveyed the beck. "You've fair got your work cut out for you".</p><p>Dad took Grandpa's arm as they walked along the path, Grandpa leaning on Dad a little bit. I suddenly realised that Grandpa is looking quite frail now.</p><p>I could see they wanted to talk in private so I said goodbye to them, and went to call for Vince.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 18th</strong><br/>
<em>Sixth after Trinity</em>
</p><p>Today Mum said I should learn to give Rosie her bottle so I can feed her if Mum and Dad are busy. I fed Rosie okay but it took ages to get her wind up. I patted her back for ages but it wasn't until I turned her upside down that she burped.</p><p>Feeding a baby with a bottle isn't difficult. It's the other end I have problems with.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 19th</strong>
</p><p>We went to visit my grandparents after I'd spent a few hours with Lester. Nana was making her Christmas cakes. She let me drop the coins in and stir them around while making a wish. I was dead selfish. I could have wished for world peace or a speedy recovery for Queenie, but instead I wished that I didn't have to spend two weeks in Blackpool for my summer holiday.</p><p>It was stupid as well as selfish, because the holiday is all booked and paid for, and Mum and Dad wouldn't let me have a holiday away from them. I dread the thought, but there's no way of getting out of it.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 20th</strong><br/>
<em>New Moon</em>
</p><p>Feel really tired today. Rosie started crying at 5 am and woke us all up. Usually she goes back to sleep if she gets fed, or changed, or held, or walked around the room, but nothing worked. We all did everything we could think of, our eyes getting redder and droopier and more frantic, until she wore herself out and fell asleep. By then it was past 7 am and time for us to get up.</p><p>The Queen's bodyguard, Commander Trestrail, has had to resign because the papers found out he is a homosexual. I think this is dead unfair. It's not against the law, and I bet the Queen doesn't mind. I have been bullied and called a poofter, so I have personal experience of gay discrimination.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 21st</strong>
</p><p>Only eight days to go until our holiday in Blackpool. I have asked my father if Vince can come with us. I can't bear the thought of being without him for a fortnight, when we have just been reunited. My father said, “He's welcome to come along as long as he stumps up a hundred and twenty euros”.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 22nd</strong>
</p><p>When we were around at Lester's doing his cleaning, I asked Vince if he would like to come with us to Blackpool. He said yes. Lester said he would love to be taken on holiday, but then sighed and added, “<em>Death</em> is the only rest I can look forward to now”.</p><p>To distract him, Vince phoned the hospital and asked how Queenie was. The nurse said, “Mrs Corncrake asked for her pot of rouge today”. Lester cheered up then, and said, “That means my little girl is getting better”. We put Lester to bed, then I walked Vince home.</p><p>We had a dead passionate kiss, then Vince whispered, “Howard, take me to Blackpool”. It was the most romantic sentence I have ever heard.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 23rd</strong>
</p><p>Got <em>Midnight Cowboy</em> out of the library. It is about a young man who tries to turn to prostitution. It is dead sad, and dead traumatic. It is the first book I ever read about gay characters, and their lives were miserable. I hope there are some more cheerful gay books out there.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 24th</strong>
</p><p>Went shopping for holiday clothes today. My mother came with me, while my father took care of Rosie. I wanted to buy a grey zip-up cardigan from Marks &amp; Spencer (it can get cold in Blackpool). I tried it on, but my mother said it made me look like an old man, and refused to pay for it. We had a bit of an argument about my taste in clothes versus her taste in clothes. In fact, looking around I could see quite a few teenagers were having arguments with their parents.</p><p>We walked around the rest of the shops without speaking until my mother dragged me into a punk shop and tried to interest me in a lime green leopard-print tee-shirt. I refused to try the tasteless thing on, so she bought it for herself!</p><p>The sadistic-looking shop assistant said, “That's a cool mother you've got”. I pretended not to hear him. It wasn't difficult: The Sex Pistols were singing a filthy version of <em>God Save the Queen</em> on the shop's stereo system. It was so loud that the studded belts and chain jackets were reverberating.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 25th</strong><br/>
<em>Seventh after Trinity</em>
</p><p>Did a bit of O Level revising while trying to ignore the sounds of Rosie gurgling and screaming. I've got the lousy stinking mocks to do when I get back to school. I am doing English, History, and Geography at O Level, and Woodwork, Domestic Science, and Biology at CSE.</p><p>It's all a big waste of time though, because intellectuals like me don't need qualifications to get jobs or worldly success. It just comes automatically to us, because of our rarity value. The only problem is getting influential people to recognise you are an intellectual. So far nobody has recognised it in me, even though I have been using words like <em>paradigm shift</em> and <em>multi-structured</em> in my daily discourse for ages.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 26th</strong>
</p><p>Alan Elliot brought bad news this morning. It was a letter from Dennis, the head of The Man Council, telling Dad that his beck clearance project was “seriously behind schedule”. My father stormed on and on about how he was giving up his life for that bloody beck, and how he had no free time of his own at all.</p><p>My mother said (in quite a mild voice) that he only did an hour after work each day and occasionally popped in on weekends. My father gave her a wounded look before slamming the door behind him as he left. I ran after him and offered to help with the beck but he told me to go home and help my mother with the holiday packing.</p><p>My mother was doing the <em>Guardian</em> crossword with Alan Elliot and the holiday clothes were still waiting to be washed, so I took the dog round to Lester's and watched the Falklands Memorial Service on television.</p><p>St Paul's Cathedral was full of widows and bereaved people. I went home and chucked my Falklands campaign map in the bin.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 27th</strong><br/>
<em>Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>My mother had a pompous letter from Ivan today. He is refusing to give Vince €120 for Blackpool! The mean git said he has already forked out over four hundred euros for a canoeing trip to the Scottish Highlands in September, and Vince's wetsuit alone cost forty euros, so he was “unable to stretch his finances further”.</p><p>So a fortnight without Vince looms ahead, unless I can think of a way to make €120 in a hurry. Vince gets a lot of pocket money, but he doesn't save any of it. He spends it all on clothes, make-up, art supplies, football gear, music, magazines, and sweets.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 28th</strong>
</p><p>I asked my mother if I could withdraw €120 from my savings account to take Vince to Blackpool. She said no, and pointed out Vince wasn't paying to take me on <em>his</em> holiday to Scotland. This was so unfair that it put me in a bad mood with her for the rest of the day. His holiday is so much more expensive, and I would need to have canoeing lessons, and I don't want to go to Scotland anyway.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 29th</strong>
</p><p>My father has been working flat out on the beck for the past three days. He hasn't been getting home until 10 pm. He is getting dead neurotic about leaving it and going on holiday.</p><p>Went with Vince to see Queenie in hospital. She was in a ward filled with old women with sunken-in white faces. It's a good job that Queenie was wearing her rouge, or I wouldn't have recognised her.</p><p>Queenie can't speak properly so it was dead embarrassing trying to work out what she was saying. Vince was really patient with her. He listened carefully, and let her slowly sign words into his hand so he knew what she was saying.</p><p>We left after twenty minutes, and I was worn out from smiling. I tried not to look at the old ladies as we walked down the ward, but they still waved and shouted at us. One of them grabbed my wrist and asked me to fetch a nice piece of cod for her husband's tea. I know it's daft, but I felt frightened and pulled away from her.</p><p>Vince was dead sweet to them. He waved and said hello to all the old ladies, and when one of them vacantly babbled, “Pretty girl, pretty girl” at him, he gave her a kiss on the cheek and said she was very kind. His smiles are always sunny and genuine. Mine are always awkward and forced.</p><p>As we left, the tired-looking nurse said many of the old ladies were living in the past. I don't blame them. Their present is dead horrible.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 30th</strong>
</p><p>Our family went to the Braithwaites' house to discuss what was involved in looking after Lester while we're on holiday. Lester doesn't want us to go, he's got used to us, and I hope he doesn't make things too difficult for Tania. I could see her getting more and more worried as Mum's list of rules got longer and longer.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 31st</strong><br/>
<em>Riviera Royale Boarding House, The Promenade, Blackpool</em>
</p><p>Vince came round early this morning to say goodbye. Normally I would have been in anguish at the prospect of not seeing him for two weeks, but I was too busy packing my case and trying to find my swimming trunks to fall apart. Vince helped me by packing my medical supplies, and putting Rosie on his lap to keep her out of the way of the packing. Vince adores Rosie, he says she is the coolest baby in the world.</p><p>We finally left our cul-de-sac at 6 pm. The car broke down in Bolton and needed to be taken to a garage, so we didn't arrive at the Riviera Royale until nearly 12.30 am. It was raining. Rosie started making little unhappy noises that meant she was going to start crying soon, while my mother tried too soothe her and shield her from the rain with her bunny blanket.</p><p>The boarding house was locked and in complete darkness. We stood on the steps ringing the bell for ages. Eventually a miserable-looking bloke answered the door. He said, “Moon family? Yer late. These doors are locked at 11 pm and there's a fine of one euro for latecomers”.</p><p>My mother asked “And who might you be?”.</p><p>The man said, “I'm Bernard Fawkner, proprietor of the Riviera Royale”.</p><p>My mother said, “Well, thank you for your effusive welcome, Mr Fawkner”.</p><p>She signed the register, then picked Rosie up in her carrycot. I helped my father get our cases off the roof rack. The tarpaulin had disappeared somewhere <em>en route</em>, so everything was wet through. I am writing this at 1 am in my basement room. It overlooks the dustbins. I can hear Mr and Mrs Fawkner quarrelling in the kitchen next door.</p><p>I wish I was back in Yorkshire.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The place Gregg takes Howard to on their date is a fictionalised version of Roundhay Park, a huge public park about ten minutes drive from where Howard lives. It does have a lake with a café, and boating is permitted, but I don't think it has boat hire in real life. </p><p>The intruder in the Queen's bedroom was Michael Fagan, a 31 year old unemployed house painter with a  minor criminal background. It was the second time he had broken into Buckingham Palace – the first time was in early June; he wandered around drinking wine and eating cheese and crackers, and hadn't been caught. At the time, breaking into Buckingham Palace wasn't a criminal offence (it is now), and charges were dropped when Fagan was admitted to a psychiatric hospital for three months. The incident made it clear that there were some serious problems with palace security at the time.</p><p>Howard's “mature” poem is obviously a pastiche of “Howl” by Beat poet Allen Ginsberg. Number six was the form to apply for the single mother's pension, while people on welfare paid fines for perceived breaches in compliance (it's much harder for poor people to comply when they have no money for transport etc). If you were youngish, creative and even moderately political in the 1980s, it was de rigeur to produce poetry/songs/plays/comedy sketches which savagely denounced Margaret Thatcher. I'm sure Howard will feel compelled to write more. </p><p>Commander Michael Trestrail, the queen's bodyguard, aged 52, confessed to seeing male prostitutes for years and resigned from his post. He was already under a cloud due to the security breaches alluded to earlier in the chapter. It wasn't illegal to be homosexual, but it was considered to be a security risk, and the fact that he had been vetted and his homosexuality undiscovered was yet another sign of weak security surrounding the palace. An investigation cleared Commander Trestrail of any security breaches or wrongdoing related to his homosexuality in November.  </p><p>Howard reads “Midnight Cowboy” by American novelist James Leo Herlihy (1965). This is the first time we see Howard read a novel with LGBT characters, and he is disappointed with the sadness of it. There was a longstanding tradition of gay characters (especially gay men and particularly male prostitutes) in fiction suffering tragic fates, even in works by gay authors. This was justified to some extent by real life, but publishers clearly preferred their gay characters coming to miserable endings. Hopefully Howard will be able to find some cheerful queer fiction very soon. </p><p>“God Save the Queen” was the second single released by The Sex Pistols in 1977. The lyrics aren't really filthy, just subversive, but Howard appears to be a bit of a monarchist at heart. Like Howard, Julian Barratt was not a fan of punk music as a teenager. </p><p>“Paradigm shift” and “multi-structured” were typical 1980s buzz words/phrases. </p><p>The Falklands Islands Memorial Service at St Paul's Cathedral was televised live by BBC One on July 26 at 10:45 am. To the horror of Conservatives like Margaret Thatcher and the Queen (whose son Andrew had served during the war), the service was pro-peace, and did not glorify the victory over Argentina. The Archbishop of Canterbury described war as a “sign of human failure”. Some widows of soldiers killed in action were present at the service.</p><p>Blackpool is about two hours drive from Leeds, and Bolton is roughly halfway between them. The breakdown seems to have delayed them by more than four hours.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. August 1982</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Moon family's summer holiday is cut short by tragedy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Sunday 1st</strong><br/>
<em>Eighth after Trinity. Lammas Day (Scottish Quarter Day)</em>
</p><p>I was woken up by Mr Fawkner shouting, “Only one piece of bacon per plate, Cynthia. Are you trying to ruin me?”.</p><p>I quickly got dressed and ran up six flights of stairs to my parent's attic room. Woke them up and told them breakfast is nearly ready. My father told me to run down to the dining room and bag a decent table (he has experience of seaside boarding houses).</p><p>I sat at a table next to the massive picture window and watched my fellow boarders take their places at the remaining tables. For some reason, everyone was whispering, like people in church. Mothers kept telling their children to sit still, sit up straight etc. Fathers stared at the cruet.</p><p>My parent's arrival caused a bit of a stir. They were carrying Rosie and all her stuff, Rosie was crying, and my mother will never keep her voice down in public (she thinks it's sly). Everyone heard her complaining about the horrible nylon sheets, including Mr Fawkner. I'm sure that's why our table only got two pieces of fried bread.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 2nd</strong><br/>
<em>Summer Bank Holiday (Scotland and Republic of Ireland)</em>
</p><p>My father has returned to his proletarian roots. He bought a hat saying “Kiss Me Quick, Squeeze Me Slowly” and walked along the promenade swigging a can of lager.</p><p>I walked a long way behind him, wearing dark glasses.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 3rd</strong>
</p><p>Eleven days to go, and I have already spent all my money on slot machines.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 4th</strong><br/>
<em>Full Moon</em>
</p><p>The sun came out today! We lay on the beach, and Rosie gave happy little screams at feeling the warmth on her skin.</p><p>Also, Prince William was christened. The Riviera Royale celebrated by giving everyone an extra boiled egg at tea time.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 5th</strong>
</p><p>A man called Horace Peabody has joined our table. He is a divorcee from Carlisle. He spent his <em>honeymoon</em> at the Riviera Royale. No wonder he is divorced. He comes to Blackpool to take part in talent contests. He plays jazz tunes on water glasses by tapping them with a teaspoon. Horace showed us some of his act, until he accidentally broke a glass. Mr Fawkner told him to “stop abusing the facilities”.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 6th</strong>
</p><p>Sent Vince a postcard with a seaside donkey on the front.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Vince,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The sun came out on Wednesday, but it didn't reach the black despair caused by our separation. It is a cultural wasteland here. Thank God I have brought my Arthur C. Clarke books.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours unto infinity,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Howard xxxxxxxxxxxx</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 7th</strong>
</p><p>Drove in the car to see the nature reserve. Nature was very reserved – we didn't see any animals or birds. They were probably all sheltering from the cold. A freezing blast came right off the sea.</p><p>I read a book today called <em>When the Wind Blows</em>. It looks like a kid's picture book, but it is about nuclear war. It is quite funny, but dead horrifying. I cried at the end.</p><p>I started writing a poem, inspired by the landscape and my current reading. I hope it will be a searing indictment of the nuclear weapons program.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 8th</strong><br/>
<em>Ninth after Trinity</em>
</p><p>My father went on a sea fishing trip today with The Society of Comprehensive School Geography Teachers.</p><p>My mother and I took Rosie to the beach, and read the Sunday papers. Mum is nice when you get her on her own. The sun was dead hot, but I was too self-conscious about my nipples to take my shirt off.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 9th</strong>
</p><p>My parents went to the swimming baths so they could sit in the paddling pool and splash Rosie for a bit. I felt this was beneath my dignity, so I said I'd hang around the beach and pier until they got back.</p><p>It was even hotter on the beach than yesterday, very crowded, and I'd seen enough men with imperfect physiques not wearing shirts to feel a bit more confident about taking mine off. I'd just unbuttoned it when I heard a voice above me say, “Hi, Howard. It's me, Gregg”.</p><p>I looked up and it was him. He was still wearing a suit and tie, even on the beach. It turns out his family come to Blackpool every summer for their holidays. He asked if I wanted an ice cream, so I hastily buttoned my shirt up and said alright. He bought me a mocha one, himself a coffee, and we ate them sitting on the pier.</p><p>Everything was okay except that intense staring thing he does, but then he put his hand on mine. I took my hand away (gently), and told him straight up that I got back with my boyfriend. I showed him the photo of Vince in my wallet.</p><p>Gregg said <em>he</em> had a boyfriend now too, called Curly. He got out<em> his</em> wallet and showed me a photo. It was a bloke lying down with his eyes closed. I asked why he'd taken a photo of his boyfriend sleeping, but Gregg said he liked the way he looked then. Gregg is a very strange person.</p><p>Gregg said we wouldn't have to tell our boyfriends about it, it would just be a holiday fling, and he was attracted to me. But I said I loved Vince, and wasn't interested. Then I said I had to get back to my boarding house.</p><p>Alone in my dingy basement room, I tried to decide how I felt. I have to admit it was a bit flattering. I mean, Gregg isn't actually bad-looking, he's just … <em>uncanny</em>. But he's not worth risking my relationship with Vince for. Nobody is.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 10th</strong>
</p><p>We were eating our evening meal when Mr Fawkner came in and said there was a phone call for my father. He left his meal in a panic and went out.</p><p>Dad was gone for about fifteen minutes, and when he came back, looking pale, he said, “I've got something to tell you both. Let's go somewhere private”.</p><p>Mum picked Rosie up and we sat on the steps overlooking the beach. Dad told us that Grandpa had suffered a heart attack about an hour ago. An ambulance had been called, but Grandpa had died before he reached hospital.</p><p>About sixty hours passed, and then Mum said, “I'm so sorry. Where's Edna?”.</p><p>“Still at the hospital”, Dad replied. “I have to go to her. She's all alone”.</p><p>We went inside and silently packed. Mr Fawkner told us there would be no refunds. Mum didn't even go mad at him. We drove home, and none of us said anything. We unpacked most of the car, and then Dad said he would drive on to Wakefield and find Nana at the hospital to take her home.</p><p>“Let me come with you, George”, Mum said. “We should face this as a family”.</p><p>“No, Pauline. I need you to stay here with Rosie and Howard”, he said. “Howard, take care of your mother”.</p><p>I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just nodded. I still can't think of anything to say, so I am going to sleep now.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 11th</strong>
</p><p>Dad phoned this afternoon and said he would be staying with Nana until the funeral. He said she isn't coping, and needs a lot of help arranging everything. Auntie Susan will join them as soon as she can.</p><p>My mother has been sitting in her room all day, holding Rosie. I still haven't thought of anything to say to her, or to my father. I always knew I had no small talk, and now I know I don't have any big talk either.</p><p>I phoned Vince this evening and told him what had happened. He went and got Tania, and she came when she had settled Lester for the night. As soon as she saw her, Mum started to cry. Tania was very sympathetic.</p><p>“George is just shutting me out”, Mum wept. “He's not saying anything except bare facts. He talks to me as if I'm an acquaintance, not his wife”.</p><p>“Men are so emotionally obtuse, Pauline”, Tania said.</p><p>She gave <em>me</em> a filthy look! It's just not fair if I don't understand everyone's emotions. I know I love Vince, and I cling to that fact like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver. All else is chaos.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 12th</strong><br/>
<em>Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>The notice came out in the newspaper today.</p><p><strong>MOON, Hubert Theodore John “Bert”</strong><br/>
Taken from us suddenly on 10th August 1982. Beloved husband of Edna, father to Susan, George, and Cedric (dec), father-in-law to Pauline, grandfather to Howard and Rosie.</p><p>“Forever in our hearts”.</p><p>The funeral service will be held at the Spiritualist Church of Wakefield, Monday 16th August 3 pm. Flowers to Rowntree &amp; Sons Funeral Directors.</p><p>My mother said it was what Grandpa would have wanted: simple, direct, and dignified. “He never liked any fuss made”, she said.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 13th</strong>
</p><p>With my father's razor gone, I have been forced to use my mother's pink underarm one. It cut my face to ribbons (but there was a very satisfactory amount of bristle around the side of the washbasin).</p><p>Auntie Susan came round today. Mum didn't cry on Auntie Susan the way she did on Tania, but we both got very tight hugs. Auntie Susan said Nana is in a terrible state. Everything is in Grandpa's name, and she can't drive. Dad is helping her with the solicitor, the bank and Grandpa's pension, as well as the funeral arrangements.</p><p>While we had this serious conversation, Rosie lay in her cot, playing with her toes. Little did she know that her family had been split apart, and she would never see her grandfather again.</p><p>Personally, I think the world has gone mad. Barry Kent won the Off the Streets Youth Club poetry competition. His grinning moronic face was in the evening paper. I can't take much more.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 14th</strong>
</p><p>Ivan came round with Vince this morning, and offered to drive us all to Wakefield to see Nana. He said Tania is close to having a nervous breakdown from taking care of Lester. It was wonderful seeing Vince again. Just being able to hug him helped a huge amount.</p><p>When we got to Nana's house, Ivan said he and Vince would wait in the car while we went in. Auntie Susan opened the door, and said Dad was at the bank. Nana was sitting huddled up in an armchair. Her face was white and bleary, and she looked a million years old. Mum gave Rosie to Auntie Susan, sat in the chair next to Nana, and said, “Edna, can I do anything to help?”.</p><p>Nana went a bit loony and told Mum to get out of Grandpa's chair. “He's not even buried, and you're already in his place”, she shouted. When Mum tried to apologise, Nana said, “You don't understand. <em>You'v</em>e still got <em>your</em> husband”. I heard Mum mutter that it didn't feel like it.</p><p>I am just about sick and tired of adults! If I behaved anything like them I would be in trouble.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 15th</strong><br/>
<em>Tenth after Trinity. Assumption</em>
</p><p>Dad came round. He said Auntie Susan informed him what happened yesterday. He told us that Nana is going through a very hard time, and we must all try to help her through it as much as we can. He said that after the funeral tomorrow, he would stay a bit longer with Nana to check she was alright, as Auntie Susan has to go back to work in London.</p><p>Then he and Mum went into their bedroom and talked for ages. I could hear their voices. Mum sounded upset. Dad sounded as if he was trying to explain things. I sat with Rosie on my lap, and wished everything could go back to normal, when nobody was dead.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 16th</strong>
</p><p>Tania and Ivan took us to the funeral in Wakefield. Mum and I squashed into the back seat with Vince. Mum carried Rosie. Vince held my hand, and I felt as if I could get through anything.</p><p>At the church, the vicar talked about Grandpa, how the church had welcomed he and Nana last year, and in only that short time, Grandpa had become an invaluable member of the congregation. An old lady stood up, and said in a spooky voice she had a message from the other side. She said that Grandpa had passed over successfully, and been welcomed into the spirit world of pure love and light by someone with a name beginning with C.</p><p>“They got that from the funeral notice”, Mum whispered to me. But I thought even if it was made up, it was a nice thing to do for Nana. She wiped her eyes, and said that Grandpa and Cedric were together now.</p><p>At the cemetery, we threw carnations and sprigs of rosemary onto Grandpa's coffin as it was lowered into the ground, to show that we would always love and remember him. I threw in an extra flower from Rosie. The vicar said that Grandpa had gone onto a higher plane, where he would continue to grow in spirit, and watch over those closest to him. Nana started sobbing hard, her shoulders bent over, and Dad and Auntie Susan put their arms around her.</p><p>I suppose there is a sort of logic to life and death. Rosie was born, and so Grandpa had to make way for her.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 17th</strong>
</p><p>My father came round today. He said that Nana was a little bit better since the funeral, but there were still a lot of “loose ends” that needed tying up.</p><p>Before he left, he gave me fifty euros. He told me to save it for emergencies, so I wasn't always bothering Mum when I needed something. And then he gave me my own electric razor, and told me I had to be the man of the house until he got back.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 18th</strong>
</p><p>Mum, Rosie, and I caught the train to Wakefield this afternoon. There was a lot of bother with carrying Rosie, and Rosie's bag, and Mum's handbag, and we had to catch the bus to the train station. We were all fed up by the time we got to Wakefield, and Rosie had a howling fit on the train which meant everyone else was fed up as well. Dad met our train and drove us to Nana's house.</p><p>Nana had made tea, and she and Mum were polite to each other, to show they had made up their row. Mum asked if Nana would like to feed Rosie, so she held Rosie and gave her a bottle, saying she was “Nana's best girl”. Being with Rosie made Nana happier. I could tell.</p><p>After tea, Dad told us that he had been left Grandpa's car, and he was giving it to Mum to drive. “You always said you wanted more independence”, he said encouragingly. He went off to give Mum lots of instructions about the car, and then Mum drove us home.</p><p>I held Rosie. It wasn't pleasant, because Rosie is teething. She is getting through six bibs a day. Dribble hangs permanently from her mouth. She looks like a rabid dog.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 19th</strong><br/>
<em>New Moon</em>
</p><p>Tania is on Librium because of Lester Corncrake, so Mrs Singh has volunteered to replace her. I haven't seen Lester for ages. I know, I'm a rat fink. Somehow I don't want to see any old men.</p><p>Ever since Grandpa died, my thing hasn't moved. Sometimes I worry it has stopped working. Tonight Vince gave me a brilliant kiss, and nothing happened. At all. It's not because I don't love Vince, so what is wrong with me?</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 20th</strong>
</p><p>My mother is too depressed to do any cooking, so I have taken over culinary duties. So far we have had either corned beef and salad or tuna and salad. I think I will try something different tomorrow – ham and salad, perhaps.</p><p>My father phones every day to check on us. Today he asked how Mum is coping on her own. I said not that well. I asked how Nana is. He said not great.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 21st</strong>
</p><p>This morning my mother and I went to Mothercare to buy a baby car seat for Rosie. I can't keep holding her on my lap, even if she wasn't all disgusting from teething. She is too squirmy and I'm scared I'll drop her.</p><p>We had to fit it in the car park, which took ages and put us both in bad moods. I put it the wrong way round, and couldn't figure out where the seat belt went. Once we had Rosie safely strapped in, Mum said we should drive to Wakefield to give it a test run.</p><p>Nana seemed quite pleased to see us. She changed Rosie's yukky nappy, and fed her. Mum and Dad went off somewhere to talk, and didn't come back for ages.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 22nd</strong><br/>
<em>Eleventh after Trinity</em>
</p><p>Went out and bought the Sunday papers, but didn't bother sneaking a look at <em>Fitness Monthly</em> like I usually do. My thing just isn't interested. The papers weighed 3 lb, but there was nothing in them except the PLO fleeing Beirut again.</p><p>Finished my anti-nuclear poem, and will send it to the BBC. I honestly feel that if they don't accept this one, then there's no point even trying any more. In fact, there's no point even going on living.</p><p>
  <em>The End, by Howard Moon</em>
</p><p>No birds<br/>
No beasts<br/>
No sun<br/>
No life<br/>
No hope<br/>
Nothing<br/>
But a chill wind<br/>
Which creeps<br/>
into every<br/>
burnt and frozen bone<br/>
All empty<br/>
All forgotten<br/>
All dead<br/>
All gone<br/>
Altogether<br/>
Bombed</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 23rd</strong>
</p><p>Vince and I took the bus into town together to do some shopping. Vince bought a Gary Numan album and some blue eye-shadow, and I got some new teething rings for Rosie.</p><p>As we passed by the church on the way home, we saw Barry Kent's family emerging, having just christened their new baby. It looks like all the other Kents – fierce eyes and massive fists.</p><p>They have called the new baby Clark, after Superman. Yuk, yuk, yuk!</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 24th</strong>
</p><p>Mrs Singh has arranged for Lester to go on holiday with a charity for elderly Hindus. I asked how long Lester had been a Hindu. Mrs Singh said, “I don't care if he's not a Hindu. I don't care if he's a Moonie or a Divine Light Missionary so long as he is far away from me”.</p><p>Sabre is staying at the RSPCA hostel. I hope he is in isolation for the sake of the other dogs.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 25th</strong>
</p><p>Alan Elliot was sipping Kenyan coffee in the kitchen when I came downstairs. He said, “I bear an important missive for Master Moon”. It was a letter from the BBC!</p><p>I took the letter up to my room, willing it to say, “Yes, we are giving you an hour-long poetry program. It will be called <em>Howard Moon: A Youth and His Poetry</em>”.</p><p>I wanted it to say that, but of course it didn't. It said:</p><p>
  <em>British Broadcasting Corporation</em><br/>
<em>19th July 1982</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Howard Moon,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thank you for your very neat letter and for the new poem entitled “Denmark”. It is a considerable development on your previous work, and shows you are maturing as a poet. I agree with you about those boring rhyming poems about flowers and stuff, but you must remember that before you break the rules of rhyme, you must know what those rules are about.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I showed your poem to a Danish friend of mine, a film-maker named Jurgen Haabermaaster. He was very impressed that you had studied his country so diligently. I attach a letter from him that has been translated into English for you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Incidentally, I think “aurora borealis” is better than “northern lights”. Don't worry about spelling, a good editor will correct things like that. I like your use of the explosive “But!” near the end of the poem.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I will try to mention your grandmother, but remember that I receive many such requests, and if I did all of them, that would be the entire show.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With my best wishes, and again, my thanks for allowing me to see your work,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Terry Wogan (Radio Two)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Howard,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My friend Terry Wogan showed me your poem called “Denmark”, and I was very moved by its sentiments. I hope you will be able to visit our country one day. It is very beautiful, and you might be able to see the aurora borealis on some clear winter nights. As an intellectual, you will be interested to see the land where great writers such as Isak Dinesen and Kierkegaard were born, as well as great avant-garde film directors, such as Bjørn Nørgaard and myself. Perhaps when you visit and speak with us, you will not find our vowel sounds so strange. So come to Denmark, and we will make you very welcome.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jurgen Haabermaaster</em>
</p><p>What a brilliant letter! “Considerable development, maturing as a poet”! The translation was even better, it was an invitation to go to Denmark. Well, almost. There was no mention of paying my air fare, but “Come to Denmark, we will make you very welcome”!</p><p>My mother and Alan Elliot read the letters. Alan said, “You have a very singular son, Mrs Moon”.</p><p>My mother's reply was brief, but touching. “I know”, she said.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 26th</strong><br/>
<em>Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>I tackled Alan Elliot about the late delivery of my BBC letter, which was dated July 19th so had taken over a month to travel two hundred miles. Alan said, “I believe there was a derailment of the Mail Train at Grantham in July. It is possible that your letter was in one of the unfortunate mailbags that lay at the bottom of the embankment until being discovered by a homeward-bound ploughman”.</p><p>The Post Office has always got an excuse!</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 27th</strong>
</p><p>My mother is too busy with Rosie most of the time to pay me any attention. It would be nice to get just a little appreciation every once in a while. I haven't even had any pocket money for two weeks.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 28th</strong>
</p><p>Vince is taking canoeing lessons in preparation for his holiday in Scotland. He had his first lesson today, and he invited me to watch, and if necessary, give him the kiss of life in case he fell out and almost drowned.</p><p>Vince looked dead erotic in his skintight black wetsuit, it clung seductively to him and clearly outlined his magnificent thighs and buttocks. And for the first time in yonks, I felt my thing moving on its own. I felt positively tumescent.</p><p>I couldn't remember anything else about the lesson, my mind was filled with Vince in his wetsuit, bending over to pull the canoe into the river, so was unable to join in the conversation as Ivan drove us home from Kirkstall.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 29th</strong><br/>
<em>Twelfth after Trinity</em>
</p><p>My mother took Rosie for a picnic with some women on Greenham Common. Vince came round and we spent most of the day in bed, until Vince said he had to go home for tea.</p><p>It was dark when my mother and Rosie got back, and nearly bedtime. I had been dead worried about them all evening.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 30th</strong><br/>
<em>Summer Bank Holiday (UK except Scotland)</em>
</p><p>My mother was happy today. She cleaned the house from top to bottom (including the cutlery drawer and the cupboard under the stairs). She sang the same song over and over again.</p><p>
  <em>You can't kill the spirit</em><br/>
<em>She is like a mountain</em><br/>
<em>Old and strong</em><br/>
<em>She goes on and on and on!</em>
</p><p>It looks like the picnic did her good.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 31st</strong>
</p><p>Tania took me and Vince to buy our new uniforms and school supplies. Mum didn't give me quite enough money (she forgot the prices go up every year), and there was a horrible moment when Tania looked as if she was going to pay for my uniform. But then I remembered the fifty euros Dad gave me, and I paid for the extra bit myself.</p><p>Vince looks really handsome in his new uniform. My thing is definitely working properly now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The nature reserve is Marton Mere Nature Reserve, about fifteen minutes drive from Blackpool.</p><p>Howard reads “When the Wind Blows” by British author and illustrator Raymond Briggs (1982), a graphic novel about a sweet elderly couple who are left to muddle through a nuclear war with outdated government pamphlets and their memories of the previous war. The combination of Briggs' charming illustrations with the realistic depiction of the effects of nuclear fallout is both darkly amusing and traumatic. We also discover that Howard has bought multiple Arthur C. Clarke books – possibly one of them is “2010: Odyssey Two” (1982). </p><p>The Society of Comprehensive School Geography Teachers is fictional. Howard apparently still has swollen nipples, and is embarrassed by them until he sees a lot of shirtless men.  </p><p>I couldn't resist having Gregg show up in Blackpool, because the town's name has the same meaning as Black Lake. </p><p>Librium is a sedative, in the same class of drugs as Valium. It's usually prescribed for anxiety and is only meant to be taken as a short-term measure.</p><p>Baby car seats only became compulsory in the UK in 2006, but they'd been commonly available since the 1970s. They often weren't terrifically safe, and more for the convenience of adults than the baby's safety. </p><p>The main phase of the Lebanon War of 1982 took place between June and September that year, although the war continued until 1985. The Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) withdrew most of their forces from Lebanon by September, so the papers that month would have been filled with reports of their expulsion after the Siege of Beirut, which concluded on 21st August.</p><p>Gary Numan's most recent album was “Dance”, which was released in September 1981. It went to #3 on the album charts in the UK.</p><p>The charity for elderly Hindus might be the Hindu Charitable Trust, which organises cultural events and outings for old people. </p><p>A Moonie is a member of the Unification Church of the United States, founded in the 1950s by Korean self-proclaimed messiah Sun Myung Moon. The Divine Light Mission was founded in 1960 by Indian guru Hans Ji Maharaj and brought to the West in the 1970s by successor guru Prem Rawat.</p><p>Kirkstall on the River Aire is the same suburb of Leeds where Howard went fishing with his father. It's about fifteen minutes drive from where Howard and Vince live.</p><p>Pauline takes Rosie to the Greenham Common Women's Peace Camp to protest nuclear weapons at RAF Greenham Common air base in Berkshire. The camp began in September 1981 when a Welsh group called Women for Life on Earth chained themselves to the fence to protest against the government's decision to store missile cruisers there. Protests continued at Greenham Common until 2000, even though the last missiles left the base in 1991. In 2002, a permanent memorial was erected on the site. </p><p>The song Pauline sings is the chorus of a feminist resistance anthem called “You Can't Kill the Spirit”, written by American musician Naomi Littlebear Morena in the 1970s. Designed to be endlessly chanted, it was adopted by the women of Greenham Common as their anthem.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. September 1982</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Howard begins a new year of school, and enters fifth year with his family divided.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Wednesday 1st</strong>
</p><p>Got a postcard from Lester Corncrake. It was a picture of Bristol Town Hall. On the back, Lester had written messily,</p><p>
  <em>Hey Kiddo,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Digging the vibe of these cool old Hindu cats as we visit temples and go to weddings nearly every day. The chow is out of this world, but I've had to can the juice habit as many of these old cats wig out if you hit the booze too hard.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Queenie gets out next week. Be a bud and get our pad looking snazzy for her big entrance, hey?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Later, alligator</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lester</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 2nd</strong>
</p><p>Vince took his One-Star Canoeing Test this afternoon. His instructor, a bloke called Bill Sampson, said that Vince has got “great canoeing potential”. Bill raved on about Vince's powerful shoulders, limp wrists, and gripping thighs. Vince passed his test easily. Bill Sampson has offered to prepare him for his Two-Star Test.</p><p>Vince has asked me to join him in his new hobby, but ever since I went on the lake with Gregg, I have a morbid dread of boats capsizing, so I declined. I am happy watching from the bank with the towels over my lap, holding the thermos flask.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 3rd</strong><br/>
<em>Full Moon</em>
</p><p>Vince, Ivan and Tania are leaving for their holiday to Scotland so I offered to feed Ginger while they are gone. They accepted my kind offer and have entrusted me with their keys. It's a massive responsibility. Their house is chock-a-block with expensive electrical items and valuable antiques.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 4th</strong>
</p><p>Waved goodbye to my love today. He blew kisses to me through the rear window of the Volvo Estate, then disappeared around the corner.</p><p>I waited half an hour (in case they came back for something they'd forgotten), then I let myself into the house. I got into Vince's bed and held his pyjamas that he left on the floor. They are silky, and dead sensual. I thought about being in bed with him and touching him through his pyjamas.</p><p>I washed his pyjamas afterwards and hung them on the line, and changed the sheets. Then I noticed his room was quite untidy, so I cleaned it up for him.</p><p>Remembered to feed Ginger before I left.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 5th</strong>
</p><p>Mum was really busy, so I said I would take Rosie for a walk and get her out of her hair. Rosie loves being in the pram, and she was a good little kid. Lots of women stopped to say hello to Rosie, and say what a nice baby she was. I pointed out she was covered in drool and looked revolting, but they didn't seem to care.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 6th</strong><br/>
<em>Labour Day (USA and Canada)</em>
</p><p>Spent all day watering Ivan and Tania's garden and houseplants. It can't be healthy being amongst so much vegetation. It's a wonder Vince doesn't have oxygen starvation, it's like living in a forest of death. If I was him, I would keep a caged canary around the place.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 7th</strong>
</p><p>Rosie has got her first tooth. My index finger is still bleeding.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 8th</strong>
</p><p>Realised with horror that school starts on Monday and I have only done one day's revising for my mock exams. Took my History folder around to Vince's, fed Ginger, and settled down to study. I thought perhaps the quiet, studious atmosphere might help, but I can't say it made much difference. I still can't remember Archduke Ferdinand's middle name or the date of the Battle of Mons.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 9th</strong>
</p><p>Went round to Lester Corncrake's to tidy up. Queenie is coming home from hospital on Sunday. I hope the Hindus bring Lester back in time.</p><p>Did revision for mocks until 3 am.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 10th</strong><br/>
<em>Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>Alan Elliot said, “A billet-doux for the young master”. It was a letter from Vince.</p><p>
  <em>Hi Howard darling,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We started at Dulcie Bridge (can't spell it) on sunday evening and started padling down the River Findhorn. Tania and Ivan were in an open Candian and I was in a single kayak. It was exiting.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We camped at Randolf's Leap that night. Quite buetiful. I looked at the stars and wished you were with me in my tent. Don't get any dirty thoughts, ya perv! (Yeah, get them, cos I had them and all).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Just passed the Leap is a place called The Slot. It is grade 5, which means you mihgt DIE!!!!! Ivan and Tania carried there canoe around it, but the river forced me to go thru the Slot. My kayak went upside down and smashed in half. After a bit I came to and swam to the bank. Lucky escape!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tania is back on the pills for her nerves. See ya sunday.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Luv ya,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Vince xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx</em>
</p><p>I felt ill after reading Vince's letter. I had to take a junior aspirin and lie down.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 11th</strong>
</p><p>Had horrible nightmares all night. I kept seeing Vince's body floating under a ruined Blackpool Pier. The sky and water were a sickly grey-green colour, and the world had gone completely silent.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 12th</strong><br/>
<em>Fourteenth after Trinity</em>
</p><p>Everyone returned home today, except my father.</p><p>He came round this evening, and told us that Nana can't stay in Wakefield on her own, and that the house isn't suitable for her any more. He is trying to persuade her to put the house on the market, and then she can move to a smaller house near us. Nana is very reluctant. She refuses to even stay with us, saying she can't leave her home. Dad said he promised Grandpa before he died that he would take care of Nana if anything happened, and he is going to stick to his word.</p><p>Mum said that the last couple of times we've seen Nana, she seemed alright, but Dad said she is putting on a show out of pride. She can't sleep at night because she's used to Grandpa being there, and she's hardly eating. Mum said Dad will be at work all day anyway, but Dad said it's at night she really needs the company. He said he'd see me at school every day.</p><p>After he left, my mother started to cry, saying that my father had abandoned her and left her to care for Rosie alone. I said she wasn't alone, I was there. She cried more. I asked what was so bad about being left alone with Rosie, saying that she had already cared for a baby before: me.</p><p>Mum wiped her eyes and said she <em>hadn't</em> cared for me as a baby. I admit that for a moment my heart leapt. Could I have been adopted, the love child of some great intellectual, talented jazz musician, or famous poet? <em>Or all three?</em></p><p>But then Mum explained that after I was born she was very depressed and couldn't cope. Not just for a day or two like when Rosie was born, but for months and months. She thought there was something wrong with her, that she couldn't be a mother. I asked if Nana looked after me, and Mum said sometimes, but mostly it was Dad.</p><p>“It was your father who fed you and bathed you and changed you, Howard. He was the one who put you to bed and got up in the night when you cried, and held you”, she said. “He got called a poofter and a pansy for taking care of a baby like a woman, but all he ever said back was that if loving his little boy made him a poof, then he was going to be the biggest poof in Leeds, and proud of it”.</p><p>I was quite touched to learn this, but I told Mum that she was older and stronger now. I said she told me women could do anything, so that meant they could care for babies. I said I would help, and Mrs Singh and Mrs O'Leary were just across the street, and Dad and Nana barely half an hour's drive away. And Rosie is a good baby, everyone says so.</p><p>Mum had to give Rosie her bath and put her to bed, so I did the ironing. School starts tomorrow, and I don't feel prepared for my mocks at all.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 13th</strong>
</p><p>I am now a fifth year and have the privilege of using the side entrance to the school. I can't wait until next year, when I will be able to use the <em>front</em> entrance (sixth formers and staff only). Perhaps I have a perverse streak, but I really enjoyed seeing the younger students cramming through their low status entrance at the back of the school.</p><p>I was nervous about our friends seeing that Vince and I were together and if I'd be allowed back into the Young Radicals, but everything changed over the holidays. Bollo's family moved to London. Julie got a boyfriend called Johnny Hatton, and she and Claire say they are going to start a band with him. They hang out with each other and talk about electro music all the time. The gang have all gone their separate ways.</p><p>And Leroy has been dead strange. His parents took him to Greece again, but he won't say anything about his holiday, and he's barely speaking to us at all. Maybe he's still upset with me over the Gregg incident. It was weird seeing Dad at school. Suddenly he feels more like my teacher than my father. (He is still phoning every day).</p><p>Had mock English exam. I was the first to finish. It didn't seem that difficult.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 14th</strong>
</p><p>I have got a new form teacher called Mr Lambert. He is the kind of teacher who likes being friendly. He said, “Consider me a friend, any problems you have at school or home, I want to hear them”. I have made an appointment to see him after school tomorrow.</p><p>My mother turned thirty-eight today. I tried to buy her a card that said she was still young (even though she's not). It had a teenage girl going mad listening to a record player. In retrospect, it was a poor choice. I bought her a voucher from the beauty salon, as I've noticed she has let herself go a bit since Dad moved out. She got ten cards from friends, all with flowers on them. I don't know why women are so mad about flowers. I prefer trees.</p><p>My father offered to take us all out to dinner, but we couldn't think of anywhere that Rosie would be welcomed. So I went out and got a Chinese take away, and we all pretended we were a normal family for one night. Dad stayed so late drinking wine and talking to Mum that in the end I said goodnight and went up to bed.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 15th</strong>
</p><p>Dad was round early this morning to have breakfast with us, and drove me to school. On the way there, he confessed he is dead miserable. He wants to come home, but he won't abandon Nana. I didn't know whether to say Mum feels abandoned, and then I thought he probably knows anyway.</p><p>Had a long talk with Mr Lambert after school. He took me to a café and bought me a cup of tea and a vanilla slice. As we parted, he said. “Look Howard, try to detach yourself from your parent's troubles. You're a gifted boy, and mustn't let yourself get dragged down”.</p><p><em>A gifted boy!</em> At last someone other than Vince has recognised my intellectual prowess.</p><p>Had mock Biology exam. I was the last to finish. I only got the final answer by glancing at Vince's paper.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 16th</strong>
</p><p>Barry Kent has made an appointment with Mr Lambert to talk about <em>his</em> family problems! I hope Mr Lambert has got twenty-four hours to spare. Ha! Ha! Ha!</p><p>Had mock Geography exam. Just my luck – there were no questions about the Danish fur industry.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 17th</strong><br/>
<em>New Moon</em>
</p><p>Nearly everyone in our class has made an appointment to see Mr Lambert. Even Vince, whose foster mother is a marriage guidance counsellor!</p><p>Mr Lambert is going about the school looking worried and biting his nails. He has stopped taking people to the café.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 18th</strong>
</p><p>A Wogan letter! Alas, yet another rejection. The poetry gods are not yet smiling on me.</p><p>
  <em>British Broadcasting Corporation</em><br/>
<em>17th September 1982</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Howard Moon,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thank you for your latest letter, and your poem “The End”, written at a nature reserve in Blackpool. The countryside seems to have made you gloomy. It often makes poets gloomy, people like Wordsworth and Co. On other occasions, it uplifts them – skylarks sing, lambs bound, daffodils daff, waterfalls crash. It provokes them into odes and things. So forget misery and nuclear annihilation, and write something cheerful.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm afraid that the poem is not yet up to broadcast standard, but it does show a poetic advance, so keep on trying. Please do not kill yourself because of another rejection. If all poets killed themselves because of early rejections, there would be no poetry at all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours most sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Terry Wogan</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 19th</strong><br/>
<em>Fifteenth after Trinity</em>
</p><p>Took a deep breath and went to see Lester and Queenie today. I felt guilty because I'd neglected them for weeks. I started to apologise, but Lester said nearly all things can be forgiven the bereaved. Queenie didn't say anything because she can't speak properly since the stroke, but she <em>looked</em> sympathetic.</p><p>It was weird, I hadn't cried about Grandpa, not even at the funeral (I was too worried one of the Spiritualists would go loony and start raving over the coffin). But seeing Lester and Queenie, I kept thinking they were alive and my Grandpa wasn't, and shed a few tears.</p><p>Lester asked me to come and clean up their house tomorrow. Their home help comes on Tuesday, and they like the place to look nice for her.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 20th</strong>
</p><p>The mock exam results came out today. My results weren't that great. Not terrible, just not great. Vince said O Levels aren't that important, anyway. I can tell Dad is disappointed in me. Mum just said if I tried my hardest, that's good enough, and they're only practice exams anyway.</p><p>Went over to Lester and Queenie's to do their cleaning.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 21st</strong>
</p><p>I told my father at school today I hadn't had any pocket money for weeks. He gave me €5, so I was able to get a Mars bar from the school tuck shop. Haven't had one in ages. Then I went and paid two months worth of library fines, so I can get books out again.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 22nd</strong>
</p><p>I am reading <em>How Children Fail</em>, written by a teacher called John Holt. It is dead good. If I fail my O Levels, it will all be the fault of the school and my parents.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 23rd</strong><br/>
<em>Autumn Equinox</em>
</p><p>Skived off school because when I got up, my mother looked terrible. Rosie didn't let her have much sleep, and she said she had a lot on today. I said I'd get changed out of my uniform and go with her. We had to take Rosie to the clinic for a check up and to get shots, to the post office to collect Family Allowance, to the bank to deposit it, to the service station to get petrol, and to the shops to buy food for the week.</p><p>The whole day was stressful, what with having to get Rosie into the car, and take all her stuff with us. Rosie howled at the clinic, and took ages to calm down. There was an endless queue at both the post office and the bank, and the shops were packed. Rosie needed her yukky nappy changed, and there was nowhere to do it except in the car. I was a nervous wreck by the time we finished. I don't know how mothers (or fathers) do it.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 24th</strong>
</p><p>Phoned the school secretary Mrs Claricoates to ask if I could have maternity leave. Bainbridge came on the line. He barked, “Moon, if I don't see you in school this morning, I shall be severely displeased”. I hurriedly put on my uniform, and Mum drove me to school. I got two demerit marks for skiving off.</p><p>Dad came round after his work on the beck to ask why I wasn't in school yesterday and have tea with us, and gave me €25. He reminded me again not to bother my mother about money when she has so much on her plate.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 25th</strong><br/>
<em>Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>Dad brought Nana over to spend the weekend. We don't have a spare room any more, so I gave Nana my room while I slept on the settee.</p><p>My parents had to go shopping and to the bank, so Nana stayed with me and Rosie. Nana insisted on wrapping her up in layers of clothes, because she said there was a nip in the air, and Rosie sounded a bit chesty. I put my ear to Rosie's chest, but couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary.</p><p>Nana wanted to have the radio on while she fed Rosie, but I told her she couldn't listen to <em>The Saturday Show</em>. Rosie doesn't like Tony Blackburn's voice for some reason. It makes her scream and bring her milk up.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 26th</strong>
</p><p>Before Dad took her home, Nana told us she had decided to sell the house in Wakefield. Even though it had been her home for so many years, and filled with precious memories, she wanted to live close to us.</p><p>“Oh … good”, Mum said with a forced smile.</p><p>But really it <em>is</em> good, because then we can have Dad back. And it will be nice having Nana nearby. My father said he will go to the estate agent's tomorrow after work.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 27th</strong>
</p><p>I brought home my Woodwork project today. I made Rosie a set of wooden blocks with the letters of the alphabet painted on them in bright colours. The G went a bit wonky (the stencil slipped), but other than that I think they're quite good. Mr Animba gave me a B+.</p><p>I gave one to Rosie and said “This is A” in a loud clear voice, but she turned her head away and blew spit bubbles. My mother said she is too young to learn her letters yet. With this kind of <em>laissez-faire</em> attitude to education, no wonder I didn't do very well in my mock exams!</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 28th</strong>
</p><p>Vince and I went for a walk in the woods after school. When we go walking alone in the woods, we can hold hands and kiss as much as we want, it's dead romantic.</p><p>However, when we got there we found a building firm had started putting up executive homes in the clearings. The woodlands of England are being sacrificed for the sake of saunas, double garages, and patio doors.</p><p>Some lucky executive is going to have the best conker tree in Yorkshire in his back garden. He'll also be as sick as a dog, because he'll have Barry Kent throwing sticks at it every autumn. Ha! Ha! Ha!</p><p>Vince and I played a silly game. We walked through one of the half-finished homes, and pretended it was our house that was being built. I said things like, “And this is the kitchen, where I will make your breakfast every morning. What colour curtains would you like in the lounge, sweetheart?”.</p><p>Vince was more interested in the bedroom. I love thinking about living with Vince when we are grown up. I want to give him a proper home, where he really belongs.</p><p>We went back to Vince's for tea, and watched an old episode of <em>Bergerac</em> on their big colour telly. Vince thinks I would make a good detective. I do think I have an investigative streak. And I'd look dead good in a trench coat.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 29th</strong>
</p><p>Wrote a poem today.</p><p>
  <em>Waiting For a Father to Return</em>
</p><p>He tells you he will come back, your dad<br/>
Your mum doesn't believe it's true<br/>
You walk to school feeling sad<br/>
Thinking no adult has a clue.</p><p>She's too young to understand, your sister<br/>
You stare down at her in her cot<br/>
Wondering if he ever misses her<br/>
And if it hurts a lot.</p><p>Fathers hand misery on to their sons<br/>
And then there's extra from the mother<br/>
But why is it business of anyone's<br/>
That it goes on, one generation after another?</p><p>I am reading <em>High Windows</em>, by Philip Larkin.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 30th</strong>
</p><p>My mother has barely spoken to me this week. She is too busy watching Rosie's manual dexterity develop.</p><p>Every time the kid grabs a wooden alphabet block or shoves a plastic teething ring in her mouth, she gets a round of applause.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A Volvo Estate is a station wagon. Ivan and Tania probably own a 1981 Volvo 245, which was turbo-charged and one of the fastest station wagons of the 1980s. The car was synonymous with smug middle-class respectability. </p><p>Ferdinand IS one of Archduke Franz Ferdinand's middle names (the others were Carl, Ludwig, Joseph, and Maria). He seems to have forgotten his first name. The Battle of Mons was the 23rd of August 1914, and the first battle of the First World War that Britain took part in. I'd say Howard is in trouble with History. </p><p>Vince's holiday in the Highlands of Scotland is generally geographically plausible, although he misspells a couple of names. Randolph's Leap is a renowned beauty spot, but it can be very dangerous (more usually in winter than in summer though), and The Slot has potential for death, as Vince notes. This part of the River Findhorn is only for experienced kayakers, and it seems foolhardy to take a teenager who's only just got their One-Star certificate canoeing there.</p><p>Howard reads “How Children Fail” by American educator John Holt (1964, revised 1982). Holt was an early proponent of homeschooling, and didn't believe in tests or grades of any kind. He also reads “High Windows” by British poet Philip Larkin  (1974, paperback 1979). Howard's poem is a vague pastiche of Larkin's most famous work, “This Be the Verse” in the collection, which begins, “They fuck you up, your mum and dad”.  </p><p>“Tony Blackburn's Saturday Show” was on Radio One from 8 am to 10 am. Tony Blackburn (born 1942) was the first DJ to be heard on Radio One when it began in 1967 and is still on BBC Radio.</p><p>I just invented the old episode of “Bergerac” which was not on TV on this day in real life; the first series was the previous year, so it would have to be a repeat. “Bergerac” is of course the main inspiration for “Mindhorn”.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. October 1982</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Howard experiments with drugs, with unfortunate results, and suffers a medical emergency which sees his acting career in tatters. Hallowe'en is predictably strange.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Friday 1st</strong>
</p><p>We are reading<em> Lord of the Flies</em> in English. I am sharing a book with three dumbos who take half an hour to read one page, so it is turning out to be a frustrating experience.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 2nd</strong>
</p><p>The advertisement for Nana's house came out in the papers today. It says:</p><p>
  <strong>CHERRY LANE, WAKEFIELD Charming 3 bdrm semi-detached house €25 000</strong>
</p><p>Tucked away on a quiet street in a desirable location, we are proud to offer this lovingly maintained home with cosy living space and kitchen overlooking the immaculate enclosed back garden. Deceptively spacious with ample storage and many original features, it boasts both off-street parking and a single garage to the rear of the property. Close to shops, transport and amenities, this delightful property must be viewed to be appreciated. OPEN 1-2 pm, Saturday 2nd October</p><p>I asked Mum what all this meant, as it didn't sound very much like Nana's house (or any house). Mum said it means it's a little old house with two cupboards and a fenced lawn in a boring suburb, and it's never been renovated, but is very clean and neat.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 3rd</strong><br/>
<em>Seventeenth After Trinity. Full Moon</em>
</p><p>Dad came round today. He said quite a few people came to see Nana's house at the home open, but they were mostly nosy neighbours trying to see if Nan's house was better than theirs. He and Mum hung over Rosie making goo-goo noises at her. I went up to my room.</p><p>I never did make the model aeroplane Lester and Queenie bought me for my birthday, so I thought I'd begin to assemble it, using the glue stick that Tez was kind enough to give me (and which I kept in Stationary Village). I had nearly finished it, when I got curious and thought I would try an experimental sniff of glue. There must be some reason Tez sniffs it, after all. It had a strong but not unpleasant aroma.</p><p>I put my nose to the undercarriage and sniffed for five seconds. Nothing spiritual occurred, but my nose stuck to the plane! My father had to take me to Casualty to have it removed. On the way, he kept telling me how stupid I was to sniff glue, and asking whether I planned to become a druggie. How I endured the laughing and sniggering at the hospital I don't know.</p><p>The Casualty doctor wrote <em>Glue-sniffer</em> on my outpatient's card. It was the most humiliating experience of my life.</p><p>I rang Vince when I got home. He laughed, but he is coming round to comfort me when he finishes football. Love is the only thing keeping me sane.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 4th</strong><br/>
<em>Feast of St Francis of Assisi</em>
</p><p>I didn't go to school, because ever since last night, I have suffered torment. My nose has swelled up so much that I am frantic with worry it might burst and take my brain with it.</p><p>I rang the Casualty Department, and after a lot of laughing, the nurse who removed the plane came on the line. She said I was “probably allergic to the glue”, and that the swelling would go down in a few days. She added, “Perhaps it will teach you not to sniff glue again”. I tried to explain, but she put the phone down.</p><p>Vince came round after school, but I declined to see him. He would go straight off me if he saw my repulsive nose.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 5th</strong>
</p><p>Still couldn't go to school because of my gigantic swollen nose. Even my mother is a bit worried about it now. She wanted to prick it with a sterilised needle, but I wouldn't let her. She can't sew an accurate patch on a pair of jeans with a needle, let alone do delicate medical procedures with one. I've begged her to take me to a private nose specialist, but she has refused. She said she is saving money to buy Rosie a baby swing.</p><p>Dad phoned up demanding to know why I hadn't been in school for two days. I explained about my nose, and he told me I was a daft bugger, and no mistake. Sometimes Dad sounds just like Grandpa, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 7th</strong>
</p><p>Sent Vince a letter.</p><p>
  <em>Vince my love,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Due to an unfortunate physical disability, I am unable to see you in person, but be assured I yearn for your proximity. Be patient, my love, and soon you will be in my arms again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours forever,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Howard</em>
</p><p>
  <em>PS If you could drop our Biology homework off before the weekend, that would be great. I don't want to fall behind.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 8th</strong>
</p><p>Nose has gone down a bit.</p><p>I allowed Vince to visit me in my darkened bedroom. We had a brilliant kissing session. Vince was wearing Tania's Janet Reger camisole and knicker set under his jeans and jumper, and he stripped off so I could caress him through the silk and lace. It sent me mad with desire.</p><p>Unfortunately, I ruined it by asking if he had worn something like that for Craig at any time. He got in an immediate strop with me, and said, “I haven't seen Craig for months, you berk. I went off him because he was big-headed and a real snob. And we never did anything together except play football. But don't let facts get in the way of your stupid jealousy”.</p><p>I apologised like anything, but he said he had to go anyway. He had to replace the Janet Reger lingerie before Tania got home.</p><p>Mum came back with the baby swing, and Rosie has been in it ever since. Seeing how quiet and contented she is in it, I realised why my mother was willing to sacrifice my health and well-being.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 9th</strong>
</p><p>Alan brought a letter from the Broads.</p><p>
  <em>Saddleback Cottage</em><br/>
<em>Wherryman's Ditch</em><br/>
<em>Suffolk</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Pauline,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your dad and me was sorry to hear of the sad loss of your father-in-law, and that George has cast off you and the children. We never did take to George, as you know, and think you are better off without him. He has a hasty temper, Pauline, for he argued with your father something terrible at Christmas.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If you would put your trust in the Lord, Pauline, you wouldn't have such trouble in your life. God only punishes the heathen and unbelievers. We was shocked last Christmas as to how much drinking and smoking went on under your roof. The way George's father was addicted to his pipe, it is no wonder it carried him off in the end. And if you ask me, George's sister isn't <span class="u">normal</span>.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You wasn't brought up to it, Pauline. We may have been short of money on the pig farm at times, but not a euro did we ever waste on alcohol or nicotine, and we never associated with those burdened by shameful lusts. We are decent God-fearing folk what knows our place, and we only wish you would take after us, before it is too late.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Terry, Marcia and Maurice have moved into a lovely new housing estate not a stone's throw from Luton Airport, which is so handy for Terry's work. They have all modern facilities, Marcia jokes that it is like living in Buckingham Palace. Perhaps you and the children would like to see it for yourselves one day, for it is not fair that the visiting all goes one way.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anyway Pauline, we are praying for you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours affectionately,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mam and Dad</em>
</p><p>
  <em>PS Marcia asks if you ever found Maurice's grey sock that disappeared mysteriously last Christmas. She's not been able to rest through wondering about it.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 10th</strong><br/>
<em>Eighteenth after Trinity. Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>My mother wrote the following reply today:</p><p>
  <em>Dear Mam and Dad,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sorry about the short delay in replying to your wonderfully comforting letter, but I have only just emerged from a drunken stupor. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to come down and inspect Terry and Marcia's new house, but I fear that I will be quite unable to drag myself away from the endless round of parties that my life revolves around. You know what us hedonists are like – living for kicks and not going to church.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What you say about George is probably true, but I married him because we laughed a lot together. There weren't a lot of laughs in our cottage on the pig farm, were there? And you are quite correct that George's sister Susan isn't normal. She is abnormally kind-hearted, abnormally funny, and abnormally sensible. She also happens to be gay, which isn't abnormal, believe it or not.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>George and Susan's brother Cedric was killed by people who thought homosexuality wasn't normal. I leave it to you whether murder is a worse sin. It is certainly a crime, whereas the other one isn't. And our son Howard has a boyfriend, a really lovely kid called Vince that you met at Christmas (he was the pretty blond one wearing make-up and jewellery). I hope the fact that your grandson is burdened by shameful lusts does not put you off ever visiting us again, or having us visit you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cordial greetings,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your daughter Pauline and grandson Howard</em>
</p><p>
  <em>PS A meticulous search has failed to produce Maurice's grey sock. I appreciate Marcia's anxiety on this point, so I enclose one euro to enable Marcia to buy a new pair and therefore rest in peace.</em>
</p><p>I begged her not to send it. She said she would think about it.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 11th</strong><br/>
<em>Columbus Day (USA). Thanksgiving (Canada)</em>
</p><p>We had a brillo supper tonight. Mum made chicken curry, and put a strand of saffron in the rice. We ate it off our knees while we watched an old Tudor wreck called the <em>Mary Rose</em> get dragged up from the sea bottom.</p><p>My mother said, “From what I can see, the sea bottom bottom is the best place for it”. I was disappointed not to see any skeletons or treasure, but a commentator said it was a historic occasion, so I tried to feel a bit overawed.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 12th</strong>
</p><p>Watched the Falklands Task Force marching through London when I got home from school. Looked for Clive Kent, but didn't see him.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 13th</strong>
</p><p>Barry Kent has been spreading malicious rumours I am addicted to Bostik. His auntie is a cleaner at the hospital, and heard about the nose-stuck-to-aeroplane incident. I think it is disgusting that cleaners are allowed to talk about patient's private medical secrets. They should be made to take the Hippocratic oath, like doctors and nurses.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 14th</strong>
</p><p>Alan brought a dead exciting letter. It said:</p><p>
  <em>Dear Howard Moon,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your work interests me enormously. If you would like to see it published, please write to me and I will furnish you with details.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hamilton Cork</em>
</p><p>The letter was sent from an address in Wolverhampton. I wonder how Hamilton Cork heard of me? Perhaps Mr Wogan mentioned me over dinner at a BBC banquet. I sent Mr Cork a short but dignified reply asking for further details.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 15th</strong>
</p><p>I have put my name down for the school play. It was written by the Drama teacher, and is called <em>Autumn Magnets</em>. I have my audition on Monday. I hope to be chosen to play Julian, the lead role. My mother says I should try out for  one of the magnets. She thinks she's such a wit.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 16th</strong>
</p><p>Took Vince for another walk in the woods. Vince wanted to see the executive homes again, and how much further along they have got. We explored a house called The Dorchester, which is about two-thirds finished.</p><p>We had a look at the view from the patio, then Vince sat up on the brick Bar-B-Q, and we kissed for a while, because there was nobody about. Vince said he wanted to see inside, so we walked through the house into the master bedroom. They had already installed built in wardrobes and laid thick soft carpet.</p><p>Vince lay on the carpet, and I put my arms around him and draped my coat over us, in case Vince got cold. I worried about someone finding us, but then Vince did something so I stopped worrying. Things went further than I meant them to, but Vince said <em>he</em> meant them to go that far.</p><p>I cleaned up most of it with a tissue I had in my pocket, and Vince rubbed the rest into the carpet with the heel of his boot as he buttoned up his trousers.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 17th</strong><br/>
<em>Nineteenth after Trinity. New Moon</em>
</p><p>Dad came round for tea this afternoon. My parents spent three hours forcing Rosie to sit up on her own. But she kept sliding down the cushions and laughing. If she could talk, I know what she would say. “Stop interfering in my development, I'll do it when I'm ready!”.</p><p>I pointed out that her back muscles are not strong enough yet, but my parents wouldn't listen. They said things like, “Rosie is exceptionally forward”, and, “You were nowhere near as advanced as her at five months”.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 18th</strong>
</p><p>Auditions were held after school. Mr McFarnaby, the Drama teacher, stopped me in the middle of my monologue from <em>Hamlet</em>.</p><p>He said, “Look, Howard, <em>Autumn Magnets</em> is a postmodern farce, not a philosophical tragedy. I want to know if you can time a comic line”. He gave me a speech to read about attraction and repulsion, listened, then said, “Yes, you'll do”.</p><p>I have the role! I can see the reviews now – <em>Howard Moon brings the character of Julian to life in a staggering tour-de-force performance</em>.</p><p>I have decided to become an actor. I will write my novels during breaks in rehearsal.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 19th</strong>
</p><p>Practised signing my autograph all through Maths. I might have to get used to being pestered for it one day.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 20th</strong>
</p><p>When I said “hello” to Vince in Geography, my voice wobbled out of control. I kept quiet for the rest of the lesson.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 21st</strong>
</p><p>My mother asked why I was so quiet. She said, “You've hardly said a word since <em>Blue Peter</em>. Is anything wrong?”.</p><p>“No”, I shrilled, and left the room.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 22nd</strong>
</p><p>My voice can't be trusted. One minute it's booming and loud like Ian Paisley, the next it's shrill and shrieking like Margaret Thatcher before she had voice lessons from an advertising agency.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 23rd</strong>
</p><p>Lester Corncrake rang me up to say that my father called round yesterday, and told Lester he was giving up the volunteer work on the beck. He has enough to do driving back and forth from Wakefield to work, visiting us, and helping Nana.</p><p>I kept silent. Lester said, “Ain't you got nothing to say, boy?”.</p><p>I wobbled, “No”, and put the phone down. I will have to go to the doctor's about my voice. It can't be normal to suffer like this.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 24th</strong><br/>
<em>Twentieth after Trinity. British Summer Time ends.</em>
</p><p>Dad brought Nana round for Sunday dinner. Nana is looking dead haggard, and she and my mother got on each other's nerves. Nana doesn't approve of the way Mum uses plain flour to make Yorkshire pudding, and Mum doesn't like the way Nana keeps rubbing Vicks on Rosie's chest. She says it smells funny, puts Rosie off her feed, and she doesn't have a cold.</p><p>I wish they wouldn't argue over Rosie. I looked into her cot to let her know not all her family are in bad moods, and she gave me a daft smile and held onto my finger dead tight. Rosie doesn't care that my voice is all over the shop. Sometimes being a brother is magic.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 25th</strong><br/>
<em>Bank Holiday (Republic of Ireland). Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>After a silent day at school, I took my unstable voice to Dr Gray's surgery. Dr Gray didn't look up from his horrible scribbling. He just said “Yes?”. I wobbled and shrilled and boomed all my fears about having a defective voice box.</p><p>Dr Gray said, “For Christ's sake, it's only your voice breaking, boy! It's come a bit late, but then, you're physically immature in general. You should take up a physical sport, and get more fresh air”.</p><p>I asked how long my voice would be in this uncertain state.</p><p>He said, “Who knows? I'm not a bloody prophet, am I?”.</p><p>I could hardly believe my ears. The first thing I will do after leaving school is take out a subscription to BUPA.</p><p>I have resigned from <em>Autumn Magnets</em>. To act you need a reliable voice, and I haven't got one.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 26th</strong>
</p><p>Barry Kent has committed educational suicide by wearing his Hell's Angels clothes to school. Mr Lambert pretended not to notice (Barry Kent is four inches taller than he is) but Mr Bainbridge spotted Kent in school dinners and ordered him to take them off, saying the studs could cause “somebody to lose an eye”.</p><p>Kent went into the fifth year's cloakroom and took his studded jacket off. He was wearing a studded death's head shirt underneath, so Bainbridge made him take that off as well, only to reveal a studded leather vest.</p><p>I don't know how Kent manages to carry around so much weight. Mr Bainbridge has sent Kent home with a note.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 27th</strong>
</p><p>Some of the more impressionable fourth years came to school with studs on the back of their school blazers.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 28th</strong>
</p><p>Bainbridge has added another school rule to the million others. Studs are not allowed to be worn anywhere in school.</p><p>After school, Claire, Julie and other girls in their gang rushed out to buy studs to put on the hems of their petticoats.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 29th</strong>
</p><p>The dog went berserk, ripping up and chewing my priceless collection of <em>Rupert Bear</em> annuals. I have been getting them since I was seven, so I was heartbroken to see them defiled.</p><p>There was no explanation for the dog's bizarre behaviour. I felt like kicking the dog repeatedly, but let it off lightly by chucking it down the stairs. It's always respected literature in the past, so it will have to go to the vet's, just in case it has a brain malfunction.</p><p>My mother was completely unsympathetic. She said it was my own fault for leaving the books outside my bedroom door in an Anchor Butter box for months, and I'm too old for Rupert Bear anyway. She doesn't realise those books would have been worth a fortune one day.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 30th</strong>
</p><p>Received an invitation to a Hallowe'en party from my so-called best friend, Leroy. It said, <em>Dress as something supernatural and scary, or you won't get in</em>. Went round to Vince's, and he had an invitation too. I asked whether we should go, considering that Leroy has ignored us both for months. Vince said of course we're going – it's a party, and he already made our costumes, just in case.</p><p>Had a look at the costumes. Vince borrowed a book about vampires from Tania. It's by a woman called Jane Wheat or something like that. I thought we would be wearing long black cloaks with our hair flat and shiny, but Vince said they aren't that type of vampires. The costumes looked like something from a Cinderella panto.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 31st</strong><br/>
<em>Twenty-first after Trinity. Hallowe'en. Daylight Saving Ends (USA and Canada)</em>
</p><p>At five o'clock I went round to Vince's to get ready for Leroy's party. I said I wasn't sure that the costumes would be identifiable as vampire ones, but Vince said we were going to break away from stereotypes. He said we were going to portray two beautiful Frog vampires who were boyfriends.</p><p>I said I couldn't possibly be made to look beautiful, but Vince said it wouldn't be hard at all. It took ages, nearly three hours, and Tania did nearly everything. We had to have our hair done. Vince had his curled and styled like a girl, then tied up with a black velvet ribbon. Mine is already dark and curly, but Tania brushed it until it was more wavy. Vince said my hair is difficult, so fine it's like brown smoke. It needed a lot of hairspray. Then Tania did our make-up. Very white faces with red lipstick and lots of stuff around our eyes.</p><p>I didn't look beautiful. I looked ridiculous. Vince looked stunning. More beautiful than I've ever seen him look before, so that it was difficult having Tania in the room.</p><p>I felt dead stupid in the clothes. Tight trousers, frilly blouses, embroidered waistcoats. The coats and boots were brilliant though, and once we had our plastic fangs in, we looked much more like vampires.</p><p>The short walk to Leroy's was an ordeal. A gang of little kids in pointed hats ran up to us, screaming “Trick or treat!”. I kept telling them to bugger off, but they followed us to Leroy's, asking if we were Prince Charming, and if we had any sweets, treading on our boots. Leroy nearly didn't let us in because he said we didn't look either supernatural or scary, but Vince explained everything and we showed him our fangs, so he relented.</p><p>There were no girls at the party, which I thought was a bit strange, but Leroy said it's more fun without girls. Claire and Julie are actually loads of fun, and so were Kathleen O'Leary and her friends when we went to Sean's party, so I'm not sure what he was on about there.</p><p>Leroy's mother and father were upstairs watching telly, so we raided their drinks cabinet. Unfortunately, we'd barely got there when a voice said, “Hi, Howard. Do you remember me? It's Leroy's older cousin, Gregg”.</p><p>Gregg was wearing a very odd costume. He'd painted his hair and skin green, and was wearing a pale blue suit and tie with a black silk shirt on the top half, and a pink tutu with pink trainers on the bottom half. I asked what he was meant to be, but he only said, “I'm Gregg!”.</p><p>I introduced Vince and Gregg, and Gregg said hi again, and got both of us a Baileys. He seemed to have made himself barman for the night. Vince asked me where I knew Gregg from, and before I could answer, Gregg turned around and said, “Howard and I dated. We had nice boat times together”.</p><p>I tried to explain to Vince that it was just one date, and Leroy organised it, but he drained his Baileys in one gulp and dragged me into the kitchen pantry and went dead mad at me. He asked when I went on a date with Gregg, and I said around the start of July. Vince said, “Oh. So just before we got back together”, in an accusing sort of way.</p><p>In the middle of our row, Vince asked if I'd shown Gregg a photo of my boyfriend. I admitted I did, when I ran into him in Blackpool. Well, that was another row, that I'd never mentioned meeting Gregg on holiday, even though Vince didn't know Gregg existed at that point, and I was rather taken up with my grandfather dying and so on.</p><p>“He's wearing my skirt!”, Vince yelled at me. “He stole my look, Howard”.</p><p>“Then why do you look gorgeous, and he looks like a hideous monster?”, I asked, using the cramped space of the pantry to crush Vince to my chest, hold his pointed chin in one hand, and gaze into his eyes. I'd copied the move from Humphrey Bogart in <em>Casablanca</em>, but it worked. My voice helpfully decided to go all deep and manly for twenty seconds.</p><p>Vince gave a little sigh, and went limp. I was going to kiss him when I remembered I had fangs in, so I nuzzled his neck and gave him a light fanging with my fake teeth. Vince gave a little moan, and fanged me back, quite hard. We took our teeth out and kissed normally, surrounded by tins of peas and bags of flour, before I said we were missing the party.</p><p>We danced in the pumpkin light to Duran Duran records, surrounded by other boys. Some time in the middle of <em>Hungry Like the Wolf</em>, Vince asked Gregg over to dance with us, and we all knocked back several more Baileys.</p><p>At 10 pm, Leroy's mother came in with a running buffet. The food was gone in ten minutes. Most of it got eaten, but a bit got thrown about. Leroy's mum told us to take the food outside if we were going to mess about with it, so we went out into the cold dark garden and had wheelbarrow races. I took both Vince and Gregg in my wheelbarrow, so we lost. By this time, the two of them were giggling and holding hands, and talking about art.</p><p>All in all, it was a weird party, although not a bad one. I'd already walked Vince home when I realised that we'd hardly seen Leroy all night. That was weird too.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Howard reads “Lord of the Flies” by British author William Golding (1954), a common set text in high school English classes. Vince reads “Interview with the Vampire” by Anne Rice (1976).</p><p>British designer Janet Reger started her luxury lingerie business in 1966. In the 1980s, she was a pioneer in the return of romanticism to lingerie, with silk, lace and pastel colours making a comeback. Victoria's Secret is heavily modelled on Janet Reger's designs.</p><p>A Saddleback is a breed of pig. They're black and white, and raised for bacon and pork. </p><p>Wherryman's Ditch is fictional, but to be in the Suffolk Broads, it would have to be one of the villages surrounding the coastal town of Lowestoft, on the edge of the Broads (a network of navigable channels, rivers and lakes and the land surrounding them, including wetlands). A  wherry is a type of boat used to carry cargo or passengers, often associated with  the Broads. </p><p>I think Uncle Terry and Auntie Marcia must have moved to Wigmore, a suburb of Luton. Originally a small hamlet, extensive development took place in the 1970s and  '80s. It is very close to the airport, but no flight paths go over it, and green space serves as a buffer, so it's relatively quiet. I imagine this signifies a step up in Terry and Marcia's social status as Marcia seems rather in awe of her new home.       </p><p>The “Mary Rose” was a warship in the navy of King Henry VIII, which sank near the Isle of Wight during a 1545 invasion by the French. Her wreck was discovered in 1971 after a search for it began in 1965, with excavation beginning in the early 1970s. Despite Howard and Pauline being so underwhelmed, its raising in October 1982 was the result of more than a decade of research and hard work. Howard and his mother would have seen it raised during the 5.40 pm news broadcast.</p><p>The Rev Ian Paisley (1926-2014) was at this time leader of the Democratic Unionist Party in Northern Ireland. He was known for his very loud, booming voice used in firebrand speeches. Margaret Thatcher was advised by her PR people to drop the pitch of her voice considerably; Howard is quite correct that her voice lessons were from an advertising executive, not from a voice coach, and it probably damaged her throat, as well as sounding completely artificial. </p><p>BUPA is the major private health insurer in the UK. Howard imagines he'll get better treatment if he goes private, but that isn't usually the case – it would only help him receive treatment more quickly, and give him easier access to specialists. Although Dr Gray is rude and aggressive with Howard (he's fed up with his hypochondria), a private consultant would have given him much the same advice about his voice changing. And BUPA doesn't usually cover GP appointments.</p><p>Rupert Bear annuals can sell for around 30 pounds today – not a fortune, but they're worth something. Rare editions can sell for thousands, but it's unlikely Howard has one of those.</p><p>Howard probably saw “Casablanca” (1942) on television.</p><p>Duran Duran had two albums out at this time, “Duran Duran” (1981) and “Rio” (1982). “Hungry Like the Wolf” is the third track on the second album, so Vince relented towards Gregg after about 50 minutes of dancing, if they listened to both albums back to back.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. November 1982</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Howard continues his fight against Thatcher, and gets some upsetting news from his dentist.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Monday 1st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>All Saint's Day. Full Moon</em>
</p><p>My mother had an appointment with the hairdresser this afternoon, and I stayed home with Rosie. She grizzled because Mum wasn't there, so I put her in bed with me and the dog while I listened to jazz records. Rosie made happy little gurgly noises, which should have been a distraction, but it was actually really nice. I think Rosie likes jazz. If I expose her to a lot of it while she's young, she could grow up to become a jazz fan.</p><p>I can see why people have babies. When they're clean and fed and well-rested, they're oddly soothing to have around.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 2nd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>All Soul's Day. Election Day (USA)</em>
</p><p>There is a new channel on television. It is called Channel Four and it is for minorities, like intellectuals and people that belong to jigsaw clubs.</p><p>At last I have found my spiritual viewing home.</p><p>I predict that Channel Four will transform British society. All the morons in the country will start watching it, and get a taste for education and culture! Yes, Britain is in for a new renaissance!</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 3rd</strong>
</p><p>Took the dog to the vet's, to see if it has brain problems. The vet said that the dog was probably bored, and I should take it for more interesting walks and buy it some new chew toys. I said that the dog had never destroyed books before, but the vet said it was my fault, for putting them in an Anchor butter box and leaving them in the hallway.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 4th</strong>
</p><p>Had a chat with Dad after Geography. He asked how Mum and Rosie were. I said if he came round, he could see his wife and daughter for himself.</p><p>“Don't turn the knife, Howard. I'm doing the best I can”, he said, before telling me to get to my next lesson.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 5th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Bonfire Night</em>
</p><p>Locked the dog in the coal shed as advised by the media. Then accompanied Vince to the Marriage Guidance Council bonfire party, which Tania helped organise.</p><p>It was crowded with couples bickering over the fireworks, so Vince and I slipped away and shared a packet of sparklers behind the wall of the co-op bakery. I wrote VINCE in the air with my sparkler. Vince wrote HOWERD. I was very upset. We've been going out for over a year. He ought to know how to spell my name by now.</p><p>Went back to the bonfire, and discovered our dog watching the firework display while chewing a hot-dog.</p><p>I lost count of the times nosy adults said, “That dog should be locked up out of harm's way”.</p><p>I tried to explain the dog is an individualist and can't be treated like other dogs, but what with the noise of the fireworks and the crowds, it was a bit difficult.</p><p>In the end I took the stupid dog home, thus missing the Best Dressed Guy Competition.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 6th</strong>
</p><p>Wrote a searing political poem. I am going to send it to the <em>New Statesman</em>. Ivan told me they print a seditious poem every week.</p><p>
  <em>Hey Thatcher!, by H. Moon</em>
</p><p>Hey Thatcher!<br/>We're coming at yer<br/>Like a beam, like a ray<br/>Like a buzzard.<br/>Hey Thatcher!<br/>We're gonna catch yer<br/>And wrap yer up in brown paper<br/>Ship yer to Siberia<br/>Let yer freeze in a blizzard<br/>Like an evil old lizard.</p><p>Hey Thatcher!<br/>You think you have such stature<br/>But yer just a milk snatcher<br/>Making kids weep like a willow<br/>Tears on their pillow.<br/>Hey Thatcher!<br/>The country's fractured.<br/>We're coming at yer<br/>And we'll dispatch yer.<br/>So take that, Thatcher!</p><p>I think it is extremely brilliant. It is the sort of poem that could bring the government to its knees.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 7th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Twenty-second after Trinity</em>
</p><p>Went to see Lester and Queenie with Rosie and my mother. My mother doesn't enjoy people stopping to say hello and look at Rosie in her pram, even though they only say nice things. She says they are time-wasters. But when Queenie and Lester made a fuss of Rosie, she was dead pleased about it.</p><p>Everyone was too old, or too young, or too ill, or too tired to do any cooking (I developed a sudden ache in both wrists from pushing the pram most of the way). So we ate bread and cheese for our Sunday dinner. Then, in the afternoon, we took turns teaching Queenie to speak again.</p><p>I got her to say, “A jar of peanut butter, please”, dead clearly. I might be a speech therapist when I grow up. I have got a definite flair for it.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 8th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>When I got home from school, I found my mother in floods of tears. She said Rosie was difficult all day, and it's too hard doing everything on her own. I did my best to comfort her, but I wish Dad could come back.</p><p>I made Mum a cup of tea and told her to have a sleep while I took care of Rosie and did the cooking. By the time Mum got up for supper, she looked a lot better, but I was exhausted. Too tired to do homework tonight.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 9th</strong>
</p><p>Had trouble concentrating in lessons. Mr Lambert told me off for staring out the window when I should have been writing about the future of the British steel industry.</p><p>He said, “Howard, you've only got three minutes left to finish your essay”.</p><p>So I wrote: <em>In my opinion, there <span class="u">is</span> no future for the British steel industry, while the present government is in power</em>. I know I'll get into trouble, but I handed it in anyway.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 10th</strong>
</p><p>Mr Brezhnev, the Russian Prime Minister, died today. World leaders have been sending lying telegrams to the Kremlin, saying how sorry they are.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 11th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Armistice Day. Veteran's Day (USA). Remembrance Day (Canada)</em>
</p><p>Went to Vince's after school. While we were having tea, Tania showed me photos from Vince's birthday party in May. I didn't really like being reminded that I wasn't invited, but looked to be polite. It was a fancy dress party, and Vince dressed up as a Japanese geisha girl in a black wig and a red kimono. He carried a stuffed toy panda with him.</p><p>I was looking at other people's costumes (Bollo went as a gorilla, Leroy was in KISS make-up, and Claire and Julie were robots) when my stomach lurched. Vince was standing next to a tall posh-looking bloke in a devil costume, who had one arm around Vince and the other hand holding a glass of wine. Vince was smiling up at him.</p><p>“That's Craig”, Tania said. “He's the son of our neighbours, Geoff and Helen Smith, who came to the party. Nice boy”.</p><p>I stayed to watch <em>Crossroads</em> with Vince, but my heart wasn't in it. I wonder if Vince noticed that my goodnight kiss lacked its usual ardour?</p><p><em>10 pm:</em> I have gone over it and over it in my mind. Vince assured me that nothing happened between he and Craig, and I should trust him. And Vince and I weren't together at the time, which was my fault. And Tania made it sound as if Craig was only invited to the party because of his parents. Even if Craig has a jawline like Superman, stinks of money, and put his arm around Vince, I must accept what Vince told me. Otherwise I will go mad.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 12th</strong>
</p><p>Rosie has started on solid food. It's not really solid, just sort of yukky and mushy. Feeding her is dead disgusting now. You stick a spoon in her gob, and a little bit goes in her mouth while most of it slides down her chin, then she sits there with her mouth open, dribbling. She refuses to eat anything I give her, and I don't blame her because the food looks revolting.</p><p>The Russians chose their new leader today. His name is Andropov.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 13th</strong>
</p><p>Went for a walk with Vince and Rosie. That is to say, Vince and I walked, while pushing Rosie in her pram. We called in to see Lester and Queenie. Queenie can't talk that well yet, but I could tell she enjoyed seeing Rosie again. If she could smile, she would have smiled. Vince sat with Queenie on the settee with his arms around, holding her hand. I made the tea and tidied up. Lester and Queenie's home help isn't due for three days.</p><p>On the way home, we pretended that Rosie was our baby, and we were going back to our own house to put her to bed and have supper together. Vince got tired of the game before I did.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 14th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Remembrance Sunday. Twenty-third after Trinity</em>
</p><p>Watched the poppies falling on the heads of the young kids at Westminster Abbey while I was holding Rosie. It suddenly struck me that Grandpa is gone, and nobody would ever call Rosie their “little lass” again.</p><p>My eyes started watering. I think I have a cold coming on.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 15th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>New Moon</em>
</p><p>Woke up at 4 am with toothache. Took six junior aspirins for the pain. At 5 am I woke my mother and told her I was in agony.</p><p>My mother said, “It's your own bloody fault for missing your last three appointments”.</p><p>At 5.30 am I asked my mother to drive me to the hospital's Casualty Department. She refused, and turned over in bed.</p><p>I sat up in torment until the sun rose, and swore that from this day forward, I would visit the dentist four times a year, whether I needed it or not.</p><p>When I got home from school, my mother told me she made an appointment for me tomorrow at the dentist's emergency clinic. I said I wasn't in pain any more, but she said I had to go anyway.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 16th</strong>
</p><p>Woke up in horrible pain again. Why do sore teeth only hurt early in the morning? I felt tired and miserable by the time I got to school. Vince comforted me and bought me a Mars Bar at lunch time. He said they are soft and easy to eat when your teeth hurt. He's so thoughtful.</p><p>Dentist's at 2.30, worse luck!</p><p><em>4 pm:</em> I am now minus a front tooth! The stupid Australian dentist took it out instead of repairing it. He even had the nerve to wrap it in a bit of tissue paper so I could take it home!</p><p>I said, “But I've got a gap!”.</p><p>He said, “So has Watford, and if Watford can get used to it, so can you”.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 17th</strong>
</p><p>I have now got the kind of face you see on on “Wanted” posters. I look like a mass murderer. My mother is dead mad with the dentist. She phoned him up to complain, and demand that he immediately make a false tooth free of charge. He said that would take ages, but my mother can be very persuasive and never gives up, so in the end he said he would fit me in as an emergency appointment tomorrow.</p><p>School was terrible. Barry Kent started calling me “Gappy Moon”, and soon everyone was at it. Even Vince was a bit distant. I sent him a note in Biology asking if he still loved me. He wrote back, “Yes, you gap-face berk”.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 18th</strong>
</p><p>Another miserable day at school being humiliated. Even some of the teachers have started calling me “Gappy”. My father has been strict on people calling me names, and has punished Barry Kent, but he's the only one.</p><p>Went to the dentist's for an impression. He called me “a bloody gap-toothed Pom”. I was unable to object because my mouth was filled with putty. He took advantage of my weak position in the dentist's chair to make disparaging comments about British teeth. His assistant is from Malaysia, so they are both bitter about having lived under the Colonial jungleboot.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 19th</strong>
</p><p>Dentist's after school for a false tooth fitting. The dentist was a bit more friendly this time. He asked where I went to school, and when I said The Grange School, he brightened and said his son just started there this term.</p><p>“Joey's settled in really well”, he said. “He's already best mates with someone in his class. Spends all his time with this Leroy kid. Absolutely inseparable, they are”.</p><p>“How nice for him”, I said coldly, as I left with my gap filled and my heart torn.</p><p>This explains why Leroy has been AWOL for months! I've been chucked by my best friend for a stupid Australian with a sadistic moron father.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 20th</strong>
</p><p>Somebody has put an offer of €22 000 on Nana's house, and after about three seconds thought, she accepted. Dad said it is a young couple, and the wife is pregnant, so they are anxious to move in as quickly as possible. I like the idea of a family being in the house again. It's funny to think that Nana and Grandpa were once the young couple moving in, ready to have Auntie Susan and begin their family.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 21st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Last after Trinity</em>
</p><p>My father came round for Sunday dinner, and to tell us more about the house sale. Nana has already gone mad, packing her things up and cleaning the house.</p><p>Dad gave me another €25, and said, "Thanks for all the help you've been giving your mother, Howard".</p><p>Then he mooned over my mother's shoulder while she got the leg of lamb ready to put in the oven. They started having an intense conversation about their relationship, so I took the dog into the garden for a session of obedience training, but it was a waste of time. Our dog would have Barbara Woodhouse in tears.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 22nd</strong>
</p><p>Dad took Nana to look at a house near us. Nana was looking dead thin and old. They came for tea, and Vince had come round after school. Even though Nana said she didn't care whether I liked boys or girls, she's always called Vince my “friend” or my “special friend”.</p><p>I steeled myself, and said, “Nana, you remember my boyfriend Vince, don't you?”.</p><p>Nana looked a bit startled, but said, “Of course I remember him. Lovely to see you, Vince”.</p><p>Vince gave a huge smile, and said, “Hello, Nana Moon”, and kissed her cheek.</p><p>“That's enough of your sauce, Sunny Jim”, she said, but she didn't seem cross at all, and put her arm around Vince's shoulders in a little squeeze.</p><p>After tea, Nana did her knitting while Vince and I played with Rosie nearby. She is much more fun now she's older. Vince says Rosie makes people love babies. I can tell Nana likes Vince, because she said she was going to knit him a woolly hat for Christmas.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 23rd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>When Dad phoned up tonight, Mum spoke to him in a mumbling sort of way as though she didn't want me to hear. But I certainly heard the last thing she said before she threw the phone across the hall, because it was said at a high rate of decibels.</p><p>“WELL ASK YOUR BLOODY MOTHER THEN – SHE'S THE ONE YOU SPEND ALL YOUR TIME WITH”.</p><p>I wonder what Dad was supposed to ask Nana?</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 24th</strong>
</p><p>Mr O'Leary has gone to Ireland to vote in the Irish election, which is being held tomorrow. I admire his patriotism, but I can't understand why he doesn't live in Ireland all the time. I will ask him when he comes back.</p><p>Mrs O'Leary is not so patriotic. She stayed at home and threw a party for a lady named Ann Summers. My mother was invited, but didn't go. She said it is because of Ann Summers that we have Rosie, and Rosie has made her lose interest in most things related to Ann Summers.</p><p>I watched the O'Leary's front door all night to see this mysterious Ann Summers, but it was just a load of middle-aged women clutching brown paper bags and giggling.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 25th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Thanksgiving Day (USA)</em>
</p><p>Nobody won the Irish election. It was a draw.</p><p>Mr O'Leary was detained at Yeadon Airport on suspicion of being a terrorist, but was let off with a warning and told not to bring Action Man accessories into the country again.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 26th</strong>
</p><p>Dad came round and said he was going to spend the night. He had an appointment with the solicitor about Nana's house, and he took Rosie and me with him. My mother said she would stay home and have some time to herself. You would think she didn't even like her own children!</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 27th</strong>
</p><p>My mother and father say they need to spend some time by themselves. So they have arranged for me to stay at Vince's for the weekend. Everything is so luxurious here, but it's almost as if Ivan and Tania are determined not to leave Vince and I alone together for an instant.</p><p>We went and watched Vince play a football game today. He looked superb on the field in his little shorts. I really enjoyed the match, although I can't remember much about it. Ivan kindly offered me a rug to put over my lap. He must have noticed I looked cold.</p><p>The spare room they have given me is dead nice, but it's ages away from Vince's bedroom. At least I was able to <em>say</em> goodnight to him, even if I couldn't <em>kiss</em> him goodnight. Now I will go to sleep, and think about Vince sleeping in the same house. I hope I dream about him tonight.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 28th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Advent Sunday</em>
</p><p>I only had a stupid dream about not being able to find a pen to write with and failing all my exams, worse luck!</p><p>The Braithwaites are vegetarian now, so we had mushroom pie with cauliflower cheese and cabbage salad for Sunday dinner. It didn't taste bad, but it wasn't like one of Nana's, with roast lamb, individual Yorkshire puddings, and home made mint sauce. Vegetable gravy isn't a patch on the real thing.</p><p>In the afternoon we did a big jigsaw puzzle together, spread out on the lounge room floor. It was a winter scene in Canada, and Vince kept trying to jam a piece of sky into the bear's face. Ivan laughed, and Tania said gently, “Now, Vince. Remember what I told you. Relax, and take a moment to think before you do things”. Then Vince realised where he went wrong, and had a giggle over it himself. Ivan and Tania praised him when he got it right, and Tania said we should all have some chestnut slice and Greek yoghurt to celebrate.</p><p>Nobody ever shouts at the Braithwaites' home, or buggers off to live somewhere else, and Vince gets attention and encouragement all the time. It's always clean and neat, and they do proper family activities together, not just watch telly. Why can't my home life be like this?</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 29th</strong>
</p><p>Asked my mother about her weekend with my father, but she was in an uncommunicative mood, so I went and read in my room. I've just finished reading <em>The Teachings of Don Juan</em>. It's written by a Peruvian bloke who got trained as a shaman by this weird Mexican sorcerer who takes a lot of drugs. He learns to fly and turns into a crow. In the end he goes loony. I give it five out of ten. Which is not bad, because I am very discriminating.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 30th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>St Andrew's Day</em>
</p><p>Made out my Christmas present list in order of preference.</p><p><em>Big presents</em><br/>Word processor (no chance)<br/>Colour telly (portable)<br/>Amstrad Hi-fi unit (for jazz records)<br/>Electronic typewriter (for poems)<br/>¾ length sheepskin coat (for warmth and status)</p><p><em>Small presents</em><br/>Trousers (pegs)<br/>Adidas trainers (size 12)<br/>Adidas anorak (size 38 chest)<br/>Anglepoise lamp (for late night poetry)<br/>Tin of Quality Street<br/>Gold pen set (inscribed H. Moon)<br/>Slippers<br/>Habitat bathrobe (like the ones Vince and Ivan wear)</p><p><em>Things I always get whether I want them or not</em><br/>Rupert Bear annual<br/>Chocolate cigars<br/>Packet of felt-tip pens<br/>Satsuma</p><p>I gave my mother the list, but she didn't feel like talking about Christmas. In fact, just mentioning Christmas put her in a bad mood.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Channel 4 began broadcasting on November 2 1982. The first program it broadcast was the letters and numbers quiz game Countdown, at 4.45 pm. This seems to be the show which convinces Howard that he's found his spiritual viewing home, and the new channel will transform British society. It was originally supposed to broadcast programs for minority groups, but this only lasted until 1993, after which it aimed itself squarely at the middle of the mass market. Hence alas, there was no great renaissance in the UK after all.</p><p>“New Statesman” is a British political and cultural magazine, founded by members of The Fabian Society in 1913, with a generally liberal and progressive political position. It has recognised, published, and encouraged new writers and critics. Howard's “searing” political poem is a vague pastiche of “Tundra Rap”. I think Howard would have done better finding a venue which welcomed performance poetry to showcase it.</p><p>As Education Secretary, Margaret Thatcher restricted the provision of free milk to primary school children in 1971, so that only those under seven got it. The British press immediately dubbed her “Margaret Thatcher, Milk-Snatcher”. It was reduced again in 1980 when only the under fives got it, so the “milk snatcher” moniker was still quite fresh.  </p><p>Leonid Brezhnev (1906-1982) had been General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union since 1964. His health had been poor for years, and he had a stroke in May before his fatal heart attack six months later. He was succeeded by Yuri Andropov (1914-1984); he suffered kidney failure in February 1983, and spent the remainder of his term in hospital.  </p><p>“Crossroads” was a British soap opera which originally ran from 1964-1988. Despite being very cheaply made, it attracted huge audiences, and wasn't afraid of tackling then-controversial subjects, such as single parents, disabilities, and interracial romance. It was on ITV every weeknight at 6.30 pm. </p><p>The Remembrance Sunday service was broadcast on BBC One on 14 November at 10 am, with poppies to honour the war dead. </p><p>Australian dentists began going to Britain to practice in the 1950s, when in a fit of postwar optimism, Australia trained far more dentists than it could feasibly employ. Many of them made their way to Britain, where they found plenty of work, and quite a bad standard of dental hygiene. This improved a lot in the 1970s and '80s, so the dentist is probably being unfair and out of date, although the UK does seem quite resistant to water fluoridation.   </p><p>Pom and pommy are Australian slang words for an English person, generally meant affectionately and playfully rather than to be offensive. It may come from the word “pomegranate”, as half-rhyming slang with “immigrant”. </p><p>Watford Gap is a low point in a range of hills near the village of Watford in Northamptonshire. It has provided an easy route through the Midlands since at least Roman times, and popularly marks the line between the north and south of England.</p><p>Howard yet again has remarkably bad luck with his medical providers, but in this case, I can't believe the dentist and his assistant are prejudiced against the British because of their colonial histories, which even in the case of Malaysia, had ended decades before. Knowing Australians, the dentist was probably teasing the rather sensitive Howard.</p><p>Barbara Woodhouse (1910-1988) was a no-nonsense dog trainer who became a household name after her 1980 television series. She believed there were no bad dogs, and I'm sure would have coped admirably with Howard's pet. </p><p>Ireland had its second general election of the year on 24 November 1982 (the first one was in February). No party gained a majority, but Fine Gael formed a coalition with Labour to take power. </p><p>Ann Summers is a British company selling sex toys and lingerie in boutique-style shops. Founded in 1970, in 1981 they began party-plan selling in all-female settings, which proved so popular it continues to this day (there are 4000 held every week). Pauline apparently used Ann Summers products while reinvigorating her sex life with George, which resulted in her getting pregnant with Rosie. This seems to have killed off her sex drive for now.</p><p>Leeds-Bradford Airport is in Yeadon, Leeds, and locally often known by the suburb name.</p><p>Howard reads “The Teachings of Don Juan”, a bestseller by Peruvian-born American author Carlos Castaneda (1968). It was a major influence on “The Priest and the Beast”, and the S1 version of Naboo, who was a Peruvian shaman. The protagonist doesn't exactly “go loony”, but suffers a complete mental, physical, and spiritual breakdown, which is apparently the last step in becoming a shaman. Although Castaneda submitted it as his Masters thesis in Anthropology, it is usually considered a work of fiction.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. December 1982</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A sad event interrupts one of Howard's many crises, and casts a shadow over the Christmas preparations.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've run into a major plotting issue, and will need to write the 1983 chapters backwards, otherwise I'm going to get myself into a tangle. It's a pain, but it's better I take a break and ensure the story makes sense than start writing the next chapter and end up in a hole. Bear with me, and I'll be back as soon as possible.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Wednesday 1st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Full Moon</em>
</p><p>An emotion-packed phone call from Nana. She says she doesn't want to leave her house, and she is fed up with having Dad there. He worries over her too much, and makes all the decisions for her. Plus he's hopeless at washing up.</p><p>I told her she doesn't have to sell the house if she doesn't want to, but she's more likely to get rid of Dad if she moves near us. I promised to visit her once a week if she comes to live in Leeds. She cheered up then, and said could it be every Sunday, so she's got someone to go to church with.</p><p>I tried putting her off by saying the Spiritualist church in Leeds is miles from us, but she said she didn't mind going back to the Church of England, as the Spiritualists are starting to give her the willies. The church is only five minutes from our house.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 2nd</strong>
</p><p>Why did I promise to visit Nana every week? And why I am too cowardly to tell her I'm an agnostic atheist and going to church would be hypocritical? I think I need divine guidance. I have booked an appointment with the local vicar, Reverend Silver. I got his number out of the phone book.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 3rd</strong>
</p><p>The vicar was mending his bike when I arrived. He looked quite normal except for wearing a black dress.</p><p>He got up and gave me a bone-crushing handshake. Then he took me to his study and asked what I wanted to see him about. I explained about Nana moving here after the death of my Grandpa (“I'm sorry for your loss”, he said), and how she wanted to go to church with me every Sunday.</p><p>He said we would both very welcome at St Matthew's, but I said that I didn't want to go to church, and didn't know how to tell Nana without upsetting her. He lit a cigarette with trembly fingers, and asked what the problem was.</p><p>I said I had stopped believing in God. He said “Oh God, not another one!”. He talked for ages. It all boiled down to having faith. I said I didn't have any faith, and asked how to get it.</p><p>He said, “You must have faith”. It was like listening to a stuck record.</p><p>I said, “If God exists, why does He or She allow wars and famines and motorway crashes to happen?”.</p><p>Rev. Silver said, “I don't know. I lie awake at night wondering that myself”.</p><p>Mrs Silver came in with two mugs of Nescafe and a box of Mr Kipling's French fancies. She said, “Derek, your Open University thing is starting in ten minutes”.</p><p>I asked Rev. Silver what he was studying, and he said, “Microbiology. You know where you are with microbes”.</p><p>I said goodbye and wished him luck in his new career. He told me not to despair, and to be honest yet sensitive with my grandmother. He showed me out. It had grown dark while we were talking, and some yobs were throwing chips at the vicarage and laughing like hyenas. I went home feeling worse than ever.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 4th</strong>
</p><p>I am having a spiritual crisis. Nobody has noticed yet.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 5th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Second in Advent</em>
</p><p>Went to see Lester. He is my last hope for spiritual guidance. (Vince only suggested that I try eating less meat.) I said, “Lester, I am having a spiritual crisis!”.</p><p>Lester said when he was studying in India, he learned two great spiritual truths to live by. One is to find your bliss in life, and follow it, no matter what happens. I asked how to find bliss. Lester said you don't find it. You go with the flow, and bliss finds you. I asked how to go with the flow. He said by living blissfully. It was even worse than the talk with the vicar about faith.</p><p>I desperately asked what the second great spiritual truth was. He said the second one is that when you are seeking enlightenment, start small. I asked how I could start small. Lester said, “You can start with the washing up!”.</p><p>I washed up the dishes, but didn't feel any more enlightened. After I finished, Queenie made me a cup of tea and a plate of crab paste sandwiches. While I ate I watched <em>Songs of Praise</em> on the telly. The church was full of happy-looking people singing their hearts out.</p><p>How come they've got faith and bliss, and I haven't? Just my luck!</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 6th</strong>
</p><p>Went to school and tried to behave normally.</p><p>I put Rosie to bed tonight. She is too young to be torn apart by spiritual doubt and the attempt to find faith in a dark and dangerous world. I tucked her teddy bear into bed with her, kissed her on the forehead, and wished she could always stay this innocent.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 7th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>Queenie died at three o'clock this morning. She had a stroke in her sleep. Lester said it was a good way to go, and I am inclined to agree with him. It was strange to go to Lester's and see Queenie's things all over the place. I still can't believe she is dead and that her body is in the Co-op Funeral Parlour.</p><p>I didn't cry when my mother told me the news, but when I saw Vince today he was pale and red-eyed. I held him and he cried on my shoulder, and then the tears leaked out. Lester didn't let me see him crying, but I know he has been. There are no clean hankies left in his drawer.</p><p>Lester doesn't know what to do about death certificates and funeral arrangements etc. So Ivan came round to do all the death paperwork.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 8th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Feast of the Immaculate Conception</em>
</p><p>Lester has asked me to write a poem to put in the Deaths column of the local paper.</p><p><em>10 pm:</em> I am terrified. In fact, I have writers block.</p><p><em>11:30 pm:</em> Unblocked. Finished poem.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 9th</strong>
</p><p>The following announcements appeared in the paper tonight:</p><p><strong>CORNCRAKE, Maud Lilian (Queenie)</strong><br/>Passed away peacefully at home on 7th December 1982. To the best little girl that ever was. Lester, Sabre, and Howard.</p><p>White face, red cheeks,<br/>Eyes like crocus buds.<br/>A soft, comfortable figure, dressed in young colours.<br/>A ready smile and a sudden crackly laugh.<br/>A heart as big as the sun,<br/>With a soul burning for justice.<br/>Her body is lifeless and cold,<br/>But the memory of her as warm as a rock pool in August.</p><p>Funeral service and cremation, Monday 13th December at 1.30 pm at Gilmore's Crematorium. Floral tributes to Cooperative Funeral Service.</p><p>Written with love by Howard Moon, on the instructions of Mr Lester Corncrake.</p><p><strong>CORNCRAKE, QUEENIE</strong><br/>A dear friend, sadly missed. Pauline and Rosie Moon.</p><p><strong>CORNCRAKE, MAUD LILIAN</strong><br/>The parting was so sudden<br/>We sit and wonder why<br/>The saddest thing of all<br/>Is that we never said goodbye.</p><p>From your grieving son Nathan, your daughter-in-law Maria, and grandchildren Jodie and Jason Pelham (Toronto, Canada).</p><p><strong>CORNCRAKE, QUEENIE</strong><br/>You were my first real mother, and I will remember you forever. All my love, Vince. With the support and gratitude of Tania and Ivan Braithwaite, and Ginger.</p><p><strong>CORNCRAKE, QUEENIE</strong><br/>Our sister in solidarity, fallen in the line of duty. A loyal worker for the cause who never gave up the struggle. Although your flame has gone out, we will continue the battle. Fight the power! From your comrades at the Leeds Branch of the Communist Party of Britain.</p><p><strong>CORNCRAKE, QUEENIE</strong><br/>Life is a journey in search of a vision. You have found your vision, we hope. From your friends, the Singh Family.</p><p><strong>CORNCRAKE, QUEENIE</strong><br/>Words can't express how much I will miss my old pal. Your neighbour, Doris.</p><p><strong>CORNCRAKE, QUEENIE</strong><br/>Deepest sympathy, from John at The Allergy Centre.</p><p><strong>CORNCRAKE, QUEENIE</strong><br/>We have lost a dear old friend. From your fellow gardeners at the Beck Valley Allotments.</p><p><strong>CORNCRAKE, QUEENIE</strong><br/>A sad loss of a lovely lady. Edna and George Moon.</p><p><strong>CORNCRAKE, QUEENIE</strong><br/>Your spirit lives on in the strength of the earth and the sweetness of the water. We'll take good care of Blossom. Steve, Jill, Ian, Trev, Annie and all at the Green Utopia Farming Collective, Otley.</p><p>My tribute to Queenie has caused a stir. People have said that it's in bad taste, and complained that it doesn't rhyme. Must I live amongst uneducated peasants all my life? I long for the day when I can buy a flat for myself and Vince in Hampstead. I will put a notice on the door: NO HAWKERS, TRADERS OR PHILISTINES.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 10th</strong>
</p><p>Ivan is very worried about Queenie's funeral. The cheapest he can arrange costs €350 (plain coffin, one hearse, one mourner's car). But Queenie's funeral insurance is only €30. She took it out in 1931, when that would buy you a fancy coffin, two teams of black horses with nodding plumes, a funeral tea, and a gang of top-hatted attendants. The death grant the government gives you is no help. It wouldn't pay for a brass coffin nail.</p><p>The only solution is for Lester to take out hire-purchase, and pay for Queenie's funeral on the never-never.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 11th</strong>
</p><p>The finance company has turned down Lester's request for a loan. They say he is too old at over ninety, so it looks as though Queenie will have to be sent off by Social Security (grey van, plywood coffin, ashes in a jam jar).</p><p>Lester is dead upset. He said, “I wanted my little girl to have the best!”.</p><p>I spent all night phoning everyone who knew Queenie, asking them to donate money. I was called a saint several times. Dad, Ivan, and Mr Singh donated the most.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 12th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Third in Advent</em>
</p><p>My mother has gone out with Mrs Singh, Mrs O'Leary, and her women's group to have a picnic on Greenham Common. She has taken Rosie, so the house is dead peaceful.</p><p>Vince came round this morning to talk about the funeral tomorrow, and this afternoon I played my Coltrane records at full volume, practised guitar for over an hour, and had a bath with the door open.</p><p><em>10:02 pm:</em> I have just seen the Greenham Common women on the telly! They were tying baby bootees on to the wire surrounding the missile base. Then they held hands with each other. The newscaster said that 30 000 women were there.</p><p>The dog sulked because my mother had gone out for the day. It didn't understand that she was miles away, safeguarding its future.</p><p>They got back safely. The women's group came to our house. They talked about women-only spaces and sisterhood while I made coffee and tuna sandwiches. I felt excluded from the conversation, so I went to bed.</p><p><em>2 am:</em> Just been woken up by Mr Singh and Mr O'Leary, banging on our front door. I got up and explained to them there were about twenty women in our lounge room. They demanded that their wives be fetched and returned to them.</p><p>I advised them to go home for their own safety.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 13th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Queenie's Funeral</em>
</p><p>We dropped Rosie off at Mrs Singh's, then walked round to Lester's. All the curtains in the street were shut out of respect to Queenie. The neighbours were out, looking at the floral tributes lining the little path to the front door.</p><p>Lester was sitting in his wheelchair, wearing his wedding suit. Sabre was sitting by his side. My mother gave Lester a kiss, and I hugged him.</p><p>Lester said, “I don't like thinking about my little girl in a coffin. She never liked confined spaces”.</p><p>My mother acted as hostess because none of Queenie's relations came (Queenie quarrelled with them because they disapproved when she married Lester).</p><p>The mourner's cars arrived so me and the Co-op men carried Lester out to the leading car, then me and my mother and Doris from next door, and Vince, Ivan, and Tania sat in the leading car. The second car filled with less important mourners, and we set off very slowly to Gilmore's Crematorium. As we passed the cemetery gates, an old man took off his hat and bowed his head. Lester said the man was a stranger. I was very touched by this gesture of respect.</p><p>My father met us at the chapel, and he and my mother sat together, my father's arm around my mother. Vince and I sat on each side of Lester, holding his hands. He said he wanted youngsters around him.</p><p>The service was short, and given by someone from the Humanist Society, since Queenie was an atheist. I'm an atheist agnostic myself, but I think atheist funerals are dead grim. I believe in being an atheist 99% of the time, but at Christmas I want baby Jesus in a manger while we unwrap presents, and at Easter for him to rise from the tomb so we can have Easter eggs, and at funerals everyone to go to heaven.</p><p>We sang Queenie's favourite song, <em>If I Had a Hammer</em>. Then this dead old bloke from the Communist Party talked about when Queenie was young, and how she was dead fierce, and kept everyone's spirits up. He passed round an old photo of Queenie in this era. She was quite good-looking, and very voluptuous, with a determined face. The old bloke got a bit weepy at the end and his voice went all shaky.</p><p>Then <em>The Internationale</em> played as the coffin began sliding towards a set of purple curtains. Vince cried silently, and I leaned across so I could hold his hand as well as Lester's. I watched with horror as the coffin disappeared. Lester said, “See you later, little girl”, and then Queenie was burnt in the oven. The chapel suddenly got dead hot.</p><p>I was so shocked, I could barely walk up the aisle with Vince. We both looked up when we got outside. Smoke was pouring out of the chimney, to be carried away by the wind. Queenie always did want to fly, but to Canada, not as a plume of smoke in the winter air.</p><p>The funeral tea was held at Vince's. It was a very jolly affair. Lester held up well, and even cracked a few jokes. But I noticed that whenever I mentioned Queenie's name, people looked away and pretended not to hear. Vince and I sneaked off to his bedroom so we could talk about Queenie and how much we will miss her. I did not disrespect Queenie's memory by having improper thoughts in Vince's bedroom.</p><p>So Lester is on his own again, and will need more looking after than ever! How will I cope? I have my O Levels in June.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 14th</strong>
</p><p>It was on Radio Four that the government is spending a billion euros on buying war equipment. Yet one of our science laboratories is closing down after Christmas, because our school can't afford to pay for a new teacher. Poor old Mr Hill is retiring, after spending thirty years slaving over a hot Bunsen burner. He will be sadly missed. He was dead strict, but dead fair with it. He was never sarcastic, and seemed to listen to what you were saying. Also, he gave out mini Mars Bars for good work.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 15th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>New Moon</em>
</p><p>We put the Christmas tree up tonight. It had gone a bit rusty, but I tied tinsel round the worst bits. My mother insisted on hanging up all the decorations I made when I was a little kid. She said they had sentimental value for her. It looked okay when all the flashy balls and bad-taste angels were bunged on it.</p><p>I picked Rosie up and showed her the finished tree, but I can't say she was overjoyed. In fact, she yawned. The dog, on the other hand, had one of its mad fits, and needed to be restrained.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 16th</strong>
</p><p>The school is setting up a Christmas postal service so we can all send cards to one another. Bought a pack of cheap Christmas cards from Cherry's, but didn't write in them. I will wait and see who sends me one first. (This is only for school, of course I sent proper cards to Nana and Lester).</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 17th</strong>
</p><p>The school's internal Christmas post service is as bad as the GPO's. I posted Vince a card before assembly, but he still hadn't had it by the end of the last lesson. I will find out which first-years were on Elf Duty today, and severely rebuke them.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 18th</strong>
</p><p>Alan has made €150 in tips from his post round. He is spending it on a weekend in Venice. He said Italian canals are much nicer than English ones, and that Christmas in Venice is an experience everyone should enjoy at least once in their lives. I now have the ambition to take Vince to Venice for Christmas one year when we are grown up.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 19th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Fourth in Advent</em>
</p><p>My father came round for tea so we could discuss our plans for Christmas. Their plans are basically: eat turkey, get drunk, and try not to get electrocuted putting up the fairy lights. My mother said that I would now bring in champagne to celebrate, but I'd only made mugs of cocoa, so this was a lie.</p><p>Rosie started crawling at 5 pm. My parents gave her a standing ovation.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 20th</strong>
</p><p>We break up tomorrow. So the school has gone a bit wild. The girls are doing no work at all, they just sit around the classrooms counting how many Christmas cards they've received, and writing our hundreds more. The Elf postal service is being swamped.</p><p>I have only received one card, from Vince. It is beautiful, hand made, and covered in glitter. I am waiting to see if anyone else sends me one.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 21st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Last day of school</em>
</p><p>Thank God! I got seven more Christmas cards. Three tasteful. Four in putrid taste and printed on flimsy paper that won't stand up. On receipt, I quickly wrote out seven cards and handed them to a passing Elf.</p><p>Mr McFarnaby, the director of the Christmas play, was very irritable today when I wished him good luck for tonight. He said, “Thanks to your abdication, Howard, rehearsals for the play were delayed by more than two weeks while I searched for a replacement, and the whole thing has been an uphill battle”.</p><p>I'm glad I did abdicate from my role, because <em>Autumn Magnets</em> was a complete fiasco. Peter Green, who played Julian, has a little squeaky voice and tends to mumble when he gets nervous, so nobody could hear anything. The best thing in the show was the scenery, which was designed by Vince. I told him Queenie would have been proud to see it.</p><p>Mr McFarnaby was nowhere to be seen at the end of the play. Someone told me he had run from the wings, saying he had to visit a friend who had been urgently taken to hospital.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 22nd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Winter Solstice</em>
</p><p>Drew €30 out of my Building Society to pay for Christmas presents, then made a list.</p><p>Dog – new, more interesting chew toy<br/>Vince – jewellery<br/>Mother – anti-nuclear poster and sticker set<br/>Father – festive car care kit<br/>Rosie – toy (superior to the dog's)<br/>Nana – cardigan<br/>Auntie Susan – 1983 calendar<br/>Lester – pack of Gauloises<br/>Sabre – dog comb<br/>Leroy – nothing (the git can get a present off his new best friend, Joey Moose)</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 23rd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>Took the bus into town to do Christmas shopping. Woolworth's was swarming with last-minute shoppers, so I had to queue at the checkout for more than half an hour. Why do people leave their shopping until there are only two days left before Christmas? The bus was packed as well with stupid lemmings, so I had to stand all the way and carry my shopping!</p><p>Went to the “Off the Streets” Youth Club Christmas party with Vince. Leroy caused a scandal by turning up wearing lipstick and mascara, and dancing with Joey Moose. Everyone was saying that Leroy was gay, so Vince and I went and danced with them, and then Julie and Claire and Johnny joined us, and we all danced with each other. I danced with Leroy and gave him a grin. I wish I'd bought him a present now.</p><p>At the end of the party, Bob Fossil put <em>White Christmas</em> by some old crumblie on the record deck, and all the couples danced romantically together. I told Vince I adored him, and he whispered in my ear that being with me made him so happy. Joey had his head on Leroy's shoulder. Johnny managed to hold both Claire and Julie at the same time.</p><p>Saw Vince home. Kissed him twice. Went home. Fed dog. Checked Rosie's pulse. Went to bed.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 24th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Christmas Eve</em>
</p><p>I told Mum I would do all the Christmas shopping so she could stay home with Rosie. I started at 8.30, queuing in the butcher's for a turkey, pork joint, and sausage meat.</p><p>By 9 am I had joined the queue at the greengrocer's. Sprouts, satsumas, mixed nuts, holly (make sure they have berries), salad (don't forget green pepper), dates (the ones with camels on the lid), apples (if no Cox, get Granny Smiths), potatoes (check each one for signs of spouting).</p><p>By 11.15 am I was in the launderette, washing and drying the loose covers off the three-piece suite.</p><p>2 pm saw me at the grocer's with a long list, and Rosie's pram outside to cart everything home. Stilton (make sure good blue colour, firm texture), sponge fingers, red and yellow jelly, tin of fruit salad …. it went on forever.</p><p>At 4.10 pm I was struggling into Woolworth's front doors, trying to fight my way to the fairy light counter. At 4.20 pm I got to the counter, only to find empty shelves and other desperate people swapping rumours about fairy lights that were still for sale in Curry's and Rumbelow's.</p><p>I went to all the above shops and more, but at 5 pm I admitted defeat and joined the long queue at the bus stop. Drunken youths covered in “crazy foam” and factory girls wearing tinsel garlands paraded around town singing carols. Jesus would have turned in his tomb.</p><p>At 5.25 pm I had a panic attack and left the queue to rush into Marks &amp; and Spencer and buy something. I was temporarily deranged. A voice in my head kept screaming, “Only five minutes before the shops shut! Buy! Buy! Buy!”.</p><p>The shop was filled with sweating men buying women's underwear. My eyes glazed in panic, I grabbed a pair of knickers without looking at them, and threw a handful of coins on the counter before running out with the knickers in my pocket.</p><p>At 5.29 pm I returned to the bus stop, just in time to see the bus departing. I got home at 6.15 pm after buying a packet of fairy lights from Cherry's, which is around the corner from our house.</p><p>My mother has made the lounge look especially nice (she even dusted the skirting board). When the new fairy lights were switched on, and the fruit arranged, and the holly stuck up etc, it looked like a room on a Christmas card.</p><p>Me and my mother had a quick drink before Lester arrived in an Age Concern car, driven by a kind volunteer. We settled him in front of the telly with a peanut butter sandwich and a bottle of beer, and went into the kitchen to make the mince pies and trifles.</p><p><em>1 am:</em> Just got back from the Midnight Service. It was very moving (even for an atheist), though I think it was a mistake to bring a live donkey into the church. I may write to Reverend Silver to express my views on the subject.</p><p><em>2 am:</em> Just woke up and remembered I forgot to buy any nutcrackers!</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 25th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Christmas Day</em>
</p><p>Got up at 7.30 am. Had a wash and a shave, cleaned teeth, brushed hair, then went downstairs and put the kettle on. I don't know what's happened to Christmas Day lately, but something has. It's just not the same as it used to be when I was a kid.</p><p>My mother cleaned and fed Rosie, and I did the same to Lester. Then we went into the lounge and opened our presents. I was dead disappointed when I saw the shape of my present. I could tell at a glance it didn't contain a single microchip. Okay, a sheepskin coat is <em>warm</em>, but there's nothing you can <em>do</em> with it, except wear it. In fact, after two hours I got bored with it and took it off. My mother liked her peace symbol poster and put it straight up on the downstairs toilet wall, but Rosie didn't even look at the plush toy Santa I bought her. What a waste!</p><p>This is what I got:</p><p>¾ length sheepskin coat (out of a Littlewood's catalogue)<br/>Rupert Bear annual (a sad disappointment, this year's is very childish)<br/>Pair of slippers from Lester (like Michael Caine wears)<br/>Tin of humbugs (supposedly from the dog)<br/><em>Boy's Book of Sport</em> from Grandma Sugden (Stanley Matthews on cover)</p><p>Things got better at 11 o'clock when Dad turned up with Nana, Auntie Susan, and Auntie Susan's flatmate, Gloria. Nana introduced Gloria as Auntie Susan's “special friend”, and then the penny dropped. I feel so stupid, but Gloria isn't just Auntie Susan's flatmate! I said, “Do you mean Auntie Susan's girlfriend, Nana?”, and Nana said, “I suppose that's what's it's called these days, yes”.</p><p>We exchanged more presents. Dad bought me an Adidas anorak, and trainers to match. Nana knitted me a woolly hat (it's a vile sludge green colour, yuk!). Auntie Susan gave me an interesting looking book called<em> A Boy's Own Story</em>. The back says it is about a boy the same age as me, growing up in the 1950s in America.</p><p>Auntie Susan and Gloria were great company; their conversation is very metropolitan and daring. Lester kept making chauvinistic remarks which made me turn red with embarrassment, but Auntie Susan and Gloria weren't a bit shocked. I could tell they thought Lester was very funny. He's not, sometimes he's just a dirty old man. Queenie would never have let him talk that way.</p><p>The turkey was quite good, although Nana said that Mum did not use enough butter on it. Dad loudly said that the turkey was delicious. Rosie had a few spoons of mashed potato and gravy. Her table manners are disgusting, even worse than Lester's. I was given a glass of Bull's Blood wine, and spoke brilliantly and with consummate wit, until my mother told me to leave the table, saying, “One sniff of the barmaid's apron and his mouth runs away with him”. I would like to add that Dad was <em>not</em> made to leave the table.</p><p>The Queen didn't look very happy when she was giving her speech. Perhaps she got lousy presents this year. Lester said he would force all the Royal Family to move into council houses in Huddersfield, and Auntie Susan and my father argued with him. Gloria said, “Oh, that's a bit drastic, Lester. Melton Mowbray would be more suitable, surely”.</p><p>We had mince pies and trifle for tea, and Mum told everyone that I helped make them. Nana said that she would be moving to Leeds in the new year, and everyone said encouraging things except Mum.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 26th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>First after Christmas. Boxing Day</em>
</p><p>Vince and I exchanged presents in a candlelit ceremony in my bedroom. I put the gold necklace with a heart pendant I bought him around his neck, and he placed the soft toffee-coloured cashmere scarf he bought me around my neck.</p><p>A cashmere scarf at fifteen! I will wear it so the label can be seen at all times.</p><p>Vince went barmy about his necklace. He kept looking at himself in the mirror, and saying, “Thank you, darling. A heart, that's well romantic!”.</p><p>I blushingly gave him the knickers I had blindly panic-bought in Marks and Spencer's. Vince giggled, and said, “These are dead kinky, Howard, you perv”. The knickers turned out to be tiny pink nylon ones fringed with black lace. I think they will suit Vince. I kept picturing him wearing nothing but the knickers and the necklace. It was a dead erotic image.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 27th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Boxing Day Bank Holiday (UK except Scotland)</em>
</p><p>Me and Vince caught the bus into town so I could take him to see <em>First Blood</em> at the cinema. He was wearing his new necklace, and looked stunning. I bought him a box of Maltesers and a Coke at the snack bar, and then the film started. I didn't mind when Vince held my hand this time. He does it between the seats so it's hard for other people to see, unless they're being really nosy.</p><p>Vince whispered that he was going to wear his school tie around his head to look like Rambo. Then he pulled down the waistband of his trousers as if he was adjusting his shirt, but he was really showing me that he had his Christmas knickers on. I had trouble concentrating on the rest of the film after that.</p><p>The best part was when Vince waited until there was a huge explosion on screen, then bent down as if he had dropped something on the floor. I bent down as if I was helping him, and we shared a quick kiss before sitting up again.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 28th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Boxing Day Bank Holiday (Scotland)</em>
</p><p>Walked up and down the High Street wearing my new sheepskin coat and cashmere scarf. Saw Leroy in his new leather trousers, leaning against the traffic lights. What a poser!</p><p>He suggested we go to his house to talk. I agreed. On the way he said thanks for dancing with him and Joey at the Christmas party. I said he was pretty gutsy for taking Joey as his date. When we got to his room, he said sorry for not telling us about Joey. He said it was too new, and he didn't know what was really happening, if they were just friends or what. I said fair enough – I didn't tell him everything about Vince when we were first going out either.</p><p>Leroy said he messed around with an older boy while he was in Greece, but then he felt weird about it. He was sort of seeing a girl at the same time, and he got a bit confused. He said, “To be honest Moony, I feel as if I could either be gay, bi, or hetero, and I'd be happy enough, so which am I meant to choose?”. Sometimes I think Leroy is a bit <em>too</em> easygoing and easily pleased. I said whatever he chose was fine, but he seemed to really like Joey.</p><p>Leroy showed me his Christmas presents. He got a multi gym, Adidas football boots, Mary Quant make-up hamper, and a unisex jogging suit.</p><p>As I was getting ready to go home, Leroy said, “You're still my best mate, you know. Joey's something different”. So I shook his hand, and said, “Still mates, then”.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 29th</strong>
</p><p>Danny Thompson has turned into a headbanger. I met him when I was walking up and down the High Street this morning. He said that he is starting a heavy metal band, and he remembered me playing guitar in last year's Christmas concert. “You were pretty good”, he added.</p><p>I said thanks, and he said, “I'm looking for a bass player, if you're interested”.</p><p>I said I was trying to become the world's greatest slap-bass guitarist, and could also make a contribution as a lyricist. But I'd been hoping to join a jazz-funk band.</p><p>Danny said, “Forget it. Play music that people might actually listen to”. He suggested I audition for the band in the new year and submit some songs for consideration, so I said I'd think about it.</p><p>Danny raised his fingers to me in a mysterious gesture, told me to read <em>Kerrang!</em> magazine, and loped down the street with his long hair bouncing down his denim jacket.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 30th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Full Moon</em>
</p><p>Auntie Susan and Gloria came over and me, Mum, and Rosie went for a walk in Waterloo Park with them (Rosie in her pram, naturally). We offered to push Lester in his wheelchair, but he hates fresh air, so he stayed home with the leftover food and the dogs. We walked for four boring miles. I looked at the lake, and shivered at the thought of falling into it in winter.</p><p>Auntie Susan and Gloria are going back to Holloway Prison tonight. They will be sadly missed, they are so amusing and vital. Lester is going back to his house. He will <em>not</em> be missed. He watches ITV all day and won't let anyone else hold Rosie.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 31st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>New Year's Eve</em>
</p><p>Lester has asked if he can stay on until New Year's Day. He said he can't face seeing in the New Year with only a Voluntary Social Worker's company. My mother agreed, but she took me into the kitchen and whispered, “Look, Lester's not living here forever, Howard. I can't look after a baby and a geriatric at the same time!”.</p><p>My father rang to wish us a Happy New Year, and my mother's face went all blotchy and soft. She asked him around for a drink. My father crossed our doorstep holding a bottle of Johnnie Walker and a packet of Zip firelighters (the closest he could get to coal). He and my mother kissed for ages and didn't even care that me and Lester were there.</p><p>When the Scottish people all went berserk at midnight, we stood around Lester's wheelchair, holding hands and singing <em>Auld Lang Syne</em>. Then we talked about Grandpa and Queenie, and said things like, “Well, I wonder what 1983 will bring us?”.</p><p>Vince rang at 1 am to say, “Happy New Year”. Ivan and Tania's party sounded good. I wish I'd gone instead of being kind and staying home to keep Lester company. I wonder if Craig was at the party? I hope not.</p><p>Went to bed rigid with fear. 1983 is my O Level year.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Spiritualist church in Leeds is centrally located, a lengthy bus ride of almost an hour for Howard and his Nana. St Matthew's is the real church in Chapel Allerton. Anything else I thought of sounded fake, and churches have pretty generic names anyway. Mr Kipling's French fancies are boxed sponge cakes covered in fondant icing. </p><p>“Songs of Praise” televises Christian hymns sung by choirs in churches of various denominations. That day it was broadcast from Liverpool Cathedral, and featured interviews with members of the British armed forces and RAF stationed in Germany. It was on BBC One at 6.40 pm.</p><p>The Beck Valley Allotments is a fictionalised version of the Gledhow Valley Allotments in Chapel Allerton. </p><p>Pauline and her women's group take part in the “Embrace the Base” protest on Greenham Common, where around 30 000 women formed a peaceful 12-mile long human chain around the missile base. The women pegged memories of their lives to the fence surrounding the base, with many choosing photos and mementos of their children. There were lots of mothers at Greenham Common, and Pauline is one of many to take her child with her. </p><p>“If I Had a Hammer” is a protest song written by Pete Seeger and Lee Hayes in 1949, written in support of left-wing causes, including Communism. It became a hit for Peter, Paul and Mary in 1962. Seeger was asked to testify by the House of Un-American Activities Committee in 1955, and refusing to answer any questions about Communism, was sentenced to a year in prison. Although the verdict was later reversed, he had trouble getting on TV for years. “The Internationale” is the Communist anthem.</p><p>Howard must have raised enough money to give Queenie a reasonable funeral, since there are two mourner's cars and a hearse. Lester doesn't seem to share Queenie's atheism, as he believes he will see her again in some manner (reincarnation?). </p><p>Curry's and Rumbelow's were well-known electrical goods stores. Curry's still exists as Curry's PC World, but Rumbelow's closed down in the 1990s. All the shops Howard mentions are within a couple of blocks in the central shopping district, so he would only be walking a few minutes to each one. </p><p>Littlewoods was a football betting and retail business which had both high street stores and a mail order business. Sir Stanley Matthews (1915-2000) is regarded as one of the greatest English footballers of all time. </p><p>“A Boy's Own Story” is a semi-autobiographical novel by American author Edmund White (1982) . It's about a teenage boy discovering and exploring his sexual feelings towards a younger boy during the 1950s and considered a touchstone of gay culture. </p><p>Age Concern (now Age UK) is a charity to help older people. The Moons don't have a high opinion of Lester's social worker, Katie Booth, but she has managed to get him a weekly home help and organised a cadre of volunteers to provide him with ongoing assistance and companionship. It would have been much easier to put him back in the nursing home, so she's really doing her best.  </p><p>The Queen's speech that Christmas mentioned the Falklands War. She might not have wanted to appear too cheery talking about such a serious subject. Her presents are always “lousy” in a way, as the Royal Family give each other small joke presents at Christmas.</p><p>Huddersfield is a large market town not far from Leeds. It consistently gets highly ranked in “worst places to live” polls in the UK. Melton Mowbray is a rural town in Leicestershire, famous for its production of British delicacies such as pork pies and Stilton. It's considered one of the best places to live in the Midlands.</p><p>Like Howard, Julian was a jazz fan who turned to the heavy metal scene because it was a guitar-based genre where he could find an audience among his peers. Danny gives him the “devil's horns” hand gesture. “Kerrang!” is a UK weekly rock/metal magazine published since 1981. Julian read it religiously as a teenager.</p><p>Waterloo Park is a fictional version of Roundhay Park, and where Howard went on a date with Gregg.</p><p>According to superstition, the first person to cross the doorstep for New Year should be a dark-haired man carrying a lump of coal. Presumably George is dark-haired like Rosie, while Howard has brown hair like his mother. The Moons are watching the New Year's Eve show “Hogmanay Party” on BBC One Scotland.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. January 1983</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An emotion-packed start to 1983 for Howard, who faces identity issues and witnesses a transformation in Vince, while Howard's family struggles to reinvent itself. All signs that it's time for a change in mood …</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Saturday 1st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>New Year's Day</em>
</p><p>These are my New Year resolutions:</p><p>1. I will revise for my O Levels for at least two hours every night<br/>2. I will stop using my mother's Buf-Puf to clean the bath<br/>3. I will buy a suede brush for my sheepskin coat<br/>4. I will stop thinking erotic thoughts during school hours<br/>5. I will oil my bike once a week<br/>6. I will try to like Lester Corncrake again and not think of him as a burden<br/>7. I will pay my library fines and rejoin the library<br/>8. I will do everything possible to help my family get back to normal<br/>9. I will work harder on practising guitar<br/>10. I will stop reading Rupert Bear</p><p>I had a look back at last year's diary to see how I went on my resolutions. Not very well. I was untrue to Vince, forgot to bring my bike in several times, kept sneaking looks at arousing magazines while in Cherry's newsagent, received only average marks in my mock O Levels, threw the dog down the stairs, still haven't forgiven Barry Kent, didn't always clean the bath, continued measuring my thing, and was too tired to do my jazz exercises at least twice. I don't know if I have been a good brother to Rosie or not. I hope so. Otherwise the whole of 1982 was a complete failure.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 2nd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Second after Christmas</em>
</p><p>Took stock of my appearance today. I grew four inches last year, but look shorter than I am because I have rounded shoulders. My nose is lopsided, my eyes are too small, and my hair is always a mess, no matter what I do. It doesn't seem very likely I will ever be a handsome man. I will have to concentrate on being intellectual instead.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 3rd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Bank Holiday in England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales</em>
</p><p>Went to Wakefield with my mother and Rosie to help Nana and my father pack for the move. Rosie was no help at all, she did nothing but get in the way.</p><p>Dad broke Nana's favourite crystal bowl, and she went mad at him, so Mum and I made our excuses and left. Once Nana loses her temper with one person, she is more likely to lose it with someone else. I am starting to see where Dad gets it from.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 4th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Bank Holiday in Scotland</em>
</p><p>Saw Danny Thompson down the High Street this morning. He told me band auditions are being held on Thursday evening at the youth club. Bob Fossil is letting him use it as a rehearsal space as long as he keeps it tidy and remembers to lock up afterwards.</p><p>Danny told me to buy <em>Kerrang!</em> and study it carefully, so I stopped at Cherry's on the way home and got a copy. The magazine had lists of all the the best albums, singles, and guitarists of 1982, so that was interesting reading. I suppose I'd better start picking some of these records up and have a listen.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 5th</strong>
</p><p>Alan Elliot has offered to give me private tuition for my O Levels. It seems he is a Doctor of Philosophy who left academic life after a quarrel in a university common room about the allocation of chairs. Apparently he was promised a chair and didn't get it.</p><p>It seems a hell of a trivial thing to leave a good job for. After all, one chair is very like another. But then, I am an existentialist to whom nothing really matters. I don't care which goddamn chair I sit in.</p><p>I am reading <em>The Catcher in the Rye</em> by J.D. Salinger.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 6th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Epiphany. Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>Went to the audition. I played <em>Riders on the Storm</em>. Danny Thompson said it was good, but could I play something a bit harder and heavier? I said like what, and he asked if I knew <em>Ace of Spades</em>?</p><p>I didn't, but he played a cassette of it, and I joined in after a bit. Danny was impressed by my ear, and said I had the gig, unless Phil Lynott or someone turned up. I didn't know who Phil Lynott was, so Danny heaved a big sigh, and handed me a stack of cassette tapes.</p><p>“Go home. Listen to these. Learn some decent songs”, Danny said. “I'll be in touch”.</p><p>I was too embarrassed to tell him I'm the only person in the world not to have a cassette deck, so I'll have to borrow one from Leroy.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 7th</strong>
</p><p>Nana moved to Leeds today. Her house is a brand new bungalow about ten minutes walk from here. It's in with a lot of other similar bungalows. All the neighbours came out to watch the furniture removal van unload Nana's furniture, so they could see if her stuff was as good as theirs.</p><p>We all helped Nana unpack and put her things away. It was a long day, and I think it was a bit much for Nana. She hardly ever looks tired, but she looked exhausted by the end. Dad said he is going to stay with Nana for a couple more nights, until she is properly settled in.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 8th</strong>
</p><p>Went into town with Vince, who wanted to buy a pair of neon pink socks. After trekking round fifty shops and not finding the exact shade of pink required, I suggested we go for a cup of coffee. I had to scrape the foam off because they made it too frothy.</p><p>We resumed our search but none of the shops had neon pink socks for sale. I could see that Vince was getting into a mood, so I said we should go to London to look for some. Vince immediately cheered up, and said we could make a day of it. It takes all day to get there and back, so obviously we would make a day of it.</p><p>He chatted excitedly about London all the way home on the bus. I remained silent. My parents won't give me money to go to London, so I will have to pay for it out of my Building Society account. It's easy for Vince, Ivan and Tania will give him almost anything he asks for.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 9th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>First after Epiphany</em>
</p><p>We had Sunday dinner at Nana's as her housewarming party. Mum gave her a new crystal bowl to welcome her to the neighbourhood, but Nana said her old one was an antique Waterford bowl, given to her as a wedding present by her grandparents. It had great sentimental value and was irreplaceable. My mother looked displeased to receive this information.</p><p>My father was even more unfortunate. He presented Nana with a pot of snowdrops. She looked them up in an old book called <em>The Secret Language of Flowers</em>, and said Dad had brought her bad luck. It seems snowdrops should never be brought into the house, or someone will die. I gave Nana an apron from Woolworths. It has bluebirds on it. She kissed me, and said it was the nicest present she'd had in ages, then told me to put the snowdrops out in the back garden.</p><p>Nana has only been in her new house for two days, and she already did the most magnificent roast lamb with individual Yorkshire puddings and proper gravy, not out of a packet, followed by apple crumble and real custard. I like the idea that dinner with Nana is only ten minutes walk away now.</p><p>During dinner, Dad said he will be staying with Nana for another week or so, as there are so many things to organise still.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 10th</strong>
</p><p>Lousy stinking school started today. Everyone was flashing their new calculators around. My sheepskin coat caused a bit of a stir wherever it went – and it went everywhere. It is far too valuable to leave in the cloakroom.</p><p>Vince and I held hands in assembly. But we were spotted by Mr Bainbridge. He marched us to his office, and said, “Please keep your revolting sexual urges to outside school hours”. I told him that I had in fact been passing a note to Vince, not holding his hand. Mr Bainbridge accepted this story, so we had to write <em>I will not pass notes during assembly</em> one hundred times each.</p><p>Vince was still upset about it at break, but I comforted him by explaining that Mr Bainbridge was probably impotent, and it enraged him to see young lovers brimming with Eastern promise.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 11th</strong>
</p><p>Leroy and Joey have started a Gay Club at school. Vince says they are dead brave, and wants us to join too. I think we will get into trouble, and I'm not even sure if I'm actually gay. Vince said having a boyfriend sounds gay enough to become a member of Gay Club. I said we should wait and see if anyone else signs up. So far nobody has, but I noticed Brain Box Henderson hanging around the poster, looking shifty.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 12th</strong>
</p><p>Vince and I have joined the Gay Club. At present, the membership remains limited to Leroy, Joey, Vince, and me. We had our first meeting today in the gym during the dinner break. Leroy said the club would be a forum for gay students to support each other and discuss issues affecting gay youth. He said that if we can be openly gay at school, then other students might feel strong enough to join. Statistically, there must be at least fifteen gay students at our school, not just four.</p><p>“If we all stand together, then they can't come after us”, Leroy declared.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 13th</strong>
</p><p>Mr Bainbridge has ordered the closure of Gay Club, saying he and the school governors could not sanction the use of the school gym for “immoral purposes”. It seems as if they <em>can</em> come after us.</p><p>Leroy stood up to Bainbridge, and said he was discriminating against students based on their sexuality. Bainbridge got an evil look on his face, and said, “No, Hetherington. I wouldn't allow a Heterosexual Club at school either”. Leroy swore at Mr Bainbridge and called him a fascist. I can't believe what a firebrand Leroy has suddenly become!</p><p>Mr Bainbridge's cheeks went all red and wobbly, and he shouted at Leroy to go to his office immediately. And then I slowly stood up and a voice that sounded like mine said, “If Leroy goes, we all go”. And Joey and Vince said the same. So we trooped off to his office.</p><p>It wasn't pleasant. He didn't shout at us any more, instead his voice went all creepy and whispery, and he said dead horrible things. I kept going hot and cold inside, and my brain sort of froze up as if it didn't want to listen any more. I held Vince's hand, and Bainbridge sneered, “Passing another note, are we?”.</p><p>Leroy has been suspended for a week. “For swearing”, Mr Bainbridge was quick to say. The rest of us were sent home with letters for our parents. The school secretary Mrs Claricoates gave us a cold look as she handed us our letters. It seems she doesn't approve of Gay Club either.</p><p>I showed my mother the letter when I got home. Her mouth went into a thin, hard line and she muttered “Stupid git” under her breath. Then she gave me the letter back and said casually, “Chuck that in the bin with all the other rubbish, will you?”.</p><p>Tania phoned Mum this evening. She and Ivan are very upset, and are going to write an official letter of complaint to the school governors. My parents cannot really do anything, because Mr Bainbridge is sort of Dad's boss.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 14th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>New Moon</em>
</p><p>Vince came round tonight with Tania and Ivan, and Leroy and Joey came too, as well as my father. My mother served coffee and cake, and we talked about Mr Bainbridge closing down Gay Club. My parents and the Braithwaites said we were welcome to hold Gay Club meetings at home, but Leroy said there was no point if we had to have meetings in secret.</p><p>Ivan said that he would have taken us to the Gay Pride Rally in London this year, except that it's in the middle of our O Levels. You would think organisers would have the decency to hold such important events in the summer holidays so school students could attend them! My mother said that it's now called Lesbian and Gay Pride, and Auntie Susan and Gloria will be there.</p><p>After this disheartening conversation where we talked pointlessly in circles, all that had been decided is that we will be able to do more after we are grown up, especially if we go to university or move to London. Dad said for now we have to concentrate on school and exams.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 15th</strong>
</p><p><em>8 am: </em>I am waiting for Ivan and Vince to pick me up. Ivan is going to drop us at the station on his way to work. They are already a bit late, Vince always takes ages to get ready.</p><p><em>8.10 am:</em> Okay, I can hear their car now. I won't take this diary with me, but will write it up when I get home tonight.</p><p><em>10 pm:</em> Too tired to really write much about my impressions of London. We got into Kings Cross around 11.45 am, and someone showed us the right Tube for Oxford Street. We went to five hundred shops to look at clothes, Vince was in his element the whole time. I carried all the bags and forged a safe path through the teeming crowds. The neon pink socks became almost irrelevant, as Vince found more and more clothes to try on, especially when we got to Carnaby Street. I think he did buy some, though.</p><p>Vince bought me lunch at a proper Italian coffee bar (everyone had lots of froth on their coffee, I think it's how you're meant to drink it). After lunch, Vince insisted on us both getting haircuts at a real London hair salon (he paid). We got taken to opposite sides of the salon. I told the girl I was growing my hair, and trying to get into a heavy metal band. She said I didn't seem the type, but sort of tidied my hair up and made it curly rather than frizzy with a lot of goo. It didn't look much different though.</p><p>Vince was a shock. He took about ten times longer than me, and when he came back, he was nervous, and said, “Like it?”. He'd had his hair dyed black, and cut so it looked a bit like Joan Jett. It made his eyes look more blue, and his features finer and pointier. I said, “Yeah, that looks alright”, but what I was thinking was, “I love it. You look amazing and dead sexy”.</p><p>We had tea at the station before we came home. On the train, I showed Vince all the music I'd bought, on the recommendation of <em>Kerrang!</em>. Vince showed me a Hawaiian shirt he'd bought me in Carnaby Street. For the last hour or so of the journey, Vince fell asleep on my shoulder, and I thought about how Vince had looked as if he belonged in London, the way he never does in Leeds.</p><p>I feel as if I am going to lose Vince. One day he will fly to London like a beautiful exotic bird let out of a cage, and never come back again. I have made the mistake of loving a wild thing, and will end up looking at the sky.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 16th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Second after Epiphany</em>
</p><p>Dad came over for Sunday dinner, as Nana was on an outing with The Evergreens. While we were eating, I asked when Dad would be moving back home.</p><p>He and Mum looked at each other, and he said, “I'm not sure that I will”.</p><p>Mum said, “We haven't really made our minds up yet. We've been through a lot in the past six months, and learned more about ourselves. We're not sure if living together is the best possible choice for us, at the moment”.</p><p>I said, “Are you getting divorced?”. My voice went all wobbly, even though it's been ages since it started breaking.</p><p>Mum said quickly, “I think trial separation might be a better way to think of it”.</p><p>“You've already been separated for months!”, I shouted. “How much more of a trial do you need?”.</p><p>I ran from the table and went to my room, my dinner mostly uneaten. I can't stand this eternal insecurity.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 17th</strong>
</p><p>I read back over my diary from last year, looking for clues that my parents might be splitting up. There must have been subtle signs I missed in my childish innocence.</p><p>Vince is standing by me at this time of crisis. He is a true pillar of strength.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 18th</strong>
</p><p>I had to spend the morning in matron's office due to feeling weak in the first lesson (PE). She asked if there was anything wrong at home. I started to cry, and said everything was.</p><p>She said, “Adults have complicated lives, Howard. It's not all staying up late and having your own door key”.</p><p>I said that parents ought to provide structure and stability for their children. She said, “It's a lot to ask, sometimes”.</p><p>I made her promise not to tell anyone she had seen me crying. She promised, and kindly let me stay until my eyes got back to normal.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 19th</strong>
</p><p>Danny Thompson rang, and said the first band rehearsal is tomorrow evening. I explained about my parents' marital difficulties, and said that I was an emotional wreck.</p><p>He said, “Good. Channel it all into the music. See you at seven”. Then he hung up.</p><p>I'm in two minds whether to go or not.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 20th</strong>
</p><p>I went. Nothing much happened. I met the other two members of the group, Badger Barnes (guitar), and Nobby Stubbman (drums). They've already left school.</p><p>I thought we would pick a band name together, and I'd come prepared with a list of possibilities: Apes of Death, Bandageddon, Peppermint Nightmare etc. But Danny has already chosen the name. It's Orange Margaret. I think it's dead stupid, but Danny said all band names sound dead stupid at first, but after a while they sound cool. I don't think Orange Margaret will ever sound cool.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 21st</strong>
</p><p>Don't ask me how I am getting through the long school day. Just don't ask. I am walking around like a smiling robot. But my soul is weeping, weeping, weeping. If only the teachers knew that an unkind word from them brings tears to my eyes. I am getting away with it by saying I have conjunctivitis, but it's a near thing sometimes.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 22nd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>My father went to visit my mother and Rosie this afternoon (I can hardly say he came to see me – he sees me every day anyway). I thought they could do with some time alone, so I went round to Nana's.</p><p>Nana asked why I had a face like a wet weekend. I tried telling her that everything was fine, but her eyes bored into me like laser beams, and I cracked under pressure. I told her that my parents are thinking of getting divorced.</p><p>Nana went loony! It turns out that she doesn't approve of divorce, or believe in trial separations. She said that she and Grandpa were married for nearly fifty years, and they never spent a single night apart, except when one of them was in hospital. She said that Mum and Dad are being very selfish, and no wonder I am upset.</p><p>“They think only of their own wants, lovey, and never of you”, she said, patting my hand. “It's a mortal shame, but keep your chin up and be a brave boy for Nana”.</p><p>These kind words made me feel so tearful I pretended I needed to go to the toilet for a long time so I could cry and then wash my face clean. Then all Nana could talk about was the supposed state of my bowels, so I went home soon after that.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 23rd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Third after Epiphany</em>
</p><p>Nana has kicked Dad out! He phoned from Lester's place, where he has taken refuge. Lester is already sending him around the twist, so I'm guessing my father will soon be begging to return to the family home.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 24th</strong>
</p><p>Negotiations are going on between my parents for a return to their married state. My mother said, “I'm not sure it can ever be the same, Howard. Too much has happened”.</p><p>I suggested they try being married differently then, and Mum said, “You're right. I need things to change if we're going to stay married”.</p><p>I pointed out that Dad might need some things to change as well. She looked thoughtful.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 25th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Burns Night (Scotland)</em>
</p><p>More negotiations behind closed doors. As he left, I asked my father for a report on the meeting. He said, “No comment!”, and got in the car.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 26th</strong>
</p><p>Negotiations have broken down.</p><p>I couldn't hear what was said, but the sugar bowl went crashing to the floor, then raised voices. Then the front door slammed.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 27th</strong>
</p><p>A message was passed to an intermediary at school (me) that fresh negotiations would be welcomed. The message was passed on when I got home, and the response was favourable, so it was left to me to arrange time, venue, and babysitting details.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 28th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Full Moon</em>
</p><p>The meeting took place in a Chinese restaurant at 8 pm. Negotiations went on through the evening, and were only adjourned when one party had return home to her children, and the other had to put Lester to bed.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 29th</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Both parties have issued the following bulletin:</em>
</p><p>It is agreed that Pauline Monica Moon and George Alfred Moon will attempt to live in mutual harmony for a trial period of one month. If, during that time, Pauline Monica Moon (hereafter known as PMM) and George Alfred Moon (hereafter known as GAM), break the agreement, then the agreement shall be declared null and void, and divorce proceedings shall automatically follow.</p><p>
  <em>The Agreement</em>
</p><p>1. GAM shall cheerfully and without nagging or reminding do his rightful share of household tasks.</p><p>2. PMM shall keep her side of the bedroom tidy and not leave clothes on the floor.</p><p>3. Both parties to go to the pub every Sunday lunchtime. This pub shall not be The Nag's Head.</p><p>4. The children of the marriage, Howard and Rosie Moon, to be given fair and equal attention from both parents.</p><p>5. Financial matters shall be discussed each Friday night at 7 pm.</p><p>6. A separate bank account to be opened for PMM.</p><p>7. A lock to be fitted to the bedroom door, and both parties to find new and fulfilling ways to be intimate, even when they are tired or busy.</p><p>8. PMM to replace cap on toothpaste after use.</p><p>9. GAM to replace the roll when he uses the last square of toilet paper.</p><p>10. Both parties to have unlimited freedom for the pursuit of hobbies, political interests, demonstrations, and social intercourse, both in and outside the home.</p><p>11. GAM to throw away all his flared jeans and trousers.</p><p>12. Neither party to harp on about mistakes made, or past grievances, or to throw such instances back in the face of the other party.</p><p>Signed on this day the 29th January 1983</p><p>Pauline Moon<br/>George Moon<br/>Howard Moon, 1st Witness<br/>Rosie Moon, 2nd Witness. Her mark X.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 30th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Fourth after Epiphany</em>
</p><p>My father burnt all his flares in the back garden today. As he poked the gobs of burning cloth, he said, “Well, it's the straight and narrow for me from now on”.</p><p>I don't know whether he meant his life or his trousers.</p><p>
  <b>Monday 31<sup>st</sup></b>
</p><p>The law about seat belts came into force today. On the way to school, me and Leroy had a dead good time signalling to drivers who had forgotten to put their seat belts on. Hardly any of them thanked us.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Howard reads the 1951 novel, “The Catcher in the Rye” by American author J.D. Salinger, that favourite of disaffected youth and inwardly rebellious teens. He quotes “Breakfast at Tiffany's”, the 1958 novella by American author Truman Capote (when he talks about loving a wild thing). Nana Moon's book, “The Secret Language of Flowers” is one of Victorian floriography. They were common as gift books in the 19th and 20th centuries.</p><p>The issue of "Kerrang!" that Howard buys is the one which came out on December 30 1982. The magazine's journalists compiled their lists of the best albums and singles of the year, as well as their favourite guitarists etc. In a year considered rather dismal for heavy metal, Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" made most people's list. Howard may have bought works by Deep Purple, Diamond Head, Scorpions, and Whitesnake while in London.  </p><p>Howard plays “Riders on the Storm” by The Doors (1971), which features in the “Hitcher” episode, and is recommended Motorhead's “Ace of Spades” (1980). Phil Lynott (1949-1986) was the vocalist and bassist for Thin Lizzy until later in 1983.</p><p>neon pink socks: Vince presumably has trouble finding some because they were still slightly cutting-edge in early 1983. By the middle of 1984, they were ubiquitous and he would have been able to buy some from the local supermarket (of course, by then he wouldn't have been interested, because everyone was wearing neon).</p><p>frothy coffee: a cappuccino, which Howard is not yet familiar with. Like neon, it would soon be everywhere in the 1980s. </p><p>Waterford: an iconic glass firm founded in Ireland in the 18th century, which went out of business in the Victorian era before being re-founded in 1947. If Nana is correct, her antique Waterford crystal bowl would have been from around the mid-19th century and fairly valuable (worth hundreds of pounds today). She only seems to think of the sentimental value, so may not be fully aware of what she's lost. </p><p>snowdrops: The Victorians regarded them as bad luck and a symbol of death because they used them as funeral flowers, especially for babies. To bring them indoors was a harbinger of death, particularly of small children. The meaning of flowers changes over time, and today snowdrops symbolise purity, innocence, and hope for the future.   </p><p>Gay Club: The first official society for LGBT students at a British secondary school was formed in 2014 at Highgate School, a co-ed private school near Hampstead Heath. Leroy is WAY ahead of his time (this is 1980s canon, btw, not me putting modern things in a 1980s story). Of course, history does not record all the LGBT societies in schools that were formed and shut down, or carried on in secret.    </p><p>Vince takes Howard shopping in Oxford and Carnaby Streets in the West End, the heart of the fashion district. Howard's experience at the trendy salon mirrors several of mine (I have very similar hair) – I hand over hundreds of dollars, and come out looking much the same, except I now have 4 kg of mousse on my head. </p><p>Nobby Stubbman: I think his name must have been subconsciously influenced by Stubby Boardman, the bassist from The Hobgoblins in “Harry Potter”. Nobby and Badger are typical old-school British nicknames.</p><p>Orange Margaret: A cross between Kraftwerk Orange and Clockwork Margaret from the show, and a nod to Pink Floyd. I like Howard's ideas better!</p><p>The first seat-belts were fitted to cars in 1959 (in the Volvo Amazon), but they weren't required to be fitted to the front seats of new cars in the UK until 1967. On January 31 1983, it became mandatory for drivers and front-seat passengers to wear seat-belts, although there had been safety campaigns in the 1970s encouraging people to wear them. In 1987 it became a requirement for cars to have seat-belts for the back seats as well, but it took a bit longer for them to become compulsory – 1989 for children, and 1991 for adults.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. February 1983</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Howard's parents spring a couple of surprises on him as he gets his relationships with the older generation back on track – one of which leads to an unexpected crush – and receives his first publication acceptance!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Tuesday 1st</strong>
</p><p>Went to Nana's this evening to do my homework at her kitchen table, and have supper. Nana made me kippers and eggs. She says fish is good for the brain.</p><p>After supper we watched Nana's favourite program, <em>Russell Harty</em>. I enjoyed the interview with David Bowie, and some of the music. Russell Harty was the best though, with his suave good looks and quicksilver wit. I can see what Vince means about older men – they <em>are</em> quite fascinating. There's something about a man of experience which attracts me.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 2nd</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Candlemas</em>
</p><p>I took the liberty of writing to the Director-General of the BBC today:</p><p>
  <em>Dear Sir,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I wish to convey to you my congratulations on last night's episode of “Russell Harty”. I watched it for the first time with my grandmother, and thought it a remarkable achievement. I might add that “Russell Harty” is my grandmother's favourite television program.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If I could be so bold as to offer suggestions for future episodes, I would very much like to see Gore Vidal chatting about his latest book, a musical performance by Weather Report, or perhaps Princess Diana having her horoscope read. I hope you do not mind me mentioning such requests, and would be grateful if you could pass them on to Mr Harty.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thanking you in anticipation of a reply,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your most obedient servant,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>H. Moon (aged 15 and 8 months)</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 3rd</strong>
</p><p>At rehearsal, Danny Thompson said we had to start getting a set list of songs together. We thought of <em>The Immigrant Song</em>, <em>Paranoid</em>, and <em>Smoke On the Water</em>, and then we got stuck.</p><p>I suggested we try something a bit different. You know, play all classic hard rock and metal, then, when they're least expecting it, drop in some Weather Report.</p><p>I couldn't convince them. But they agreed to Jimi Hendrix's <em>Foxy Lady</em>, so I felt that was a good compromise. I think I am beginning to make my mark on the band. I am funking up Orange Margaret.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 4th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Moon's Last Quarter</em>
</p><p>Must go and see how Lester is getting on. God! I wish I'd never got involved with him. He is like The Old Man of the Sea on my back.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 5th</strong>
</p><p>There is a new joke craze sweeping the school. In my opinion, these so-called “jokes” are puerile. I watch in amazement as my fellow pupils roll helplessly in the corridors with tears of laughter coursing down their cheeks after relating them to each other.</p><p>Q: What do you fall a man with a seagull on his head?<br/>A: Cliff.</p><p>Q: What do you call a man with a shovel in his head?<br/>A: Doug.</p><p>Q: What do you call a man without a shovel in his head?<br/>A: Douglas.</p><p>Q: What do you call an Irishman who's been buried for fifty years?<br/>A: Pete.</p><p>Q: What do you call a man with fifty rabbits up his bum?<br/>A: Warren.</p><p>Come back, Oscar Wilde. Your country needs you.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 6th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Fifth after Epiphany</em>
</p><p>My father put on his new straight-legged jeans today. He looks dead stupid in them. Talk about mutton dressed as lamb. He looks like stewing steak dressed as beef stir-fry.</p><p>I had to look after Rosie while my parents swanned down to the pub. I was also in charge of the shoulder of pork and roast potatoes, and switching on the greens. I don't mind feeding Rosie that much, although she makes a terrible mess, but I had to change her yukky nappy. The smell put me off eating.</p><p>I phoned Nana to ask if she would like to come to Sunday dinner, but she snapped back that she won't step foot inside this house. She and Dad exchanged harsh words when she sent him packing, and she doesn't consider a trial living together much better than a trial separation. In her opinion, it's barely being married at all.</p><p><em>10 pm:</em> Now I come to the difficult part. How exactly do I feel about my father's return home? It's been a week now and I've had plenty of time to think about it. I think I'll reserve judgement until the slopping has stopped and they are back to normal.</p><p><em>12:15 am:</em> Why didn't I go and see Lester? Why are you such a rat fink, Moon?</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 7th</strong>
</p><p>Russell Harty is haunting my dreams. Last night he was walking down our street, selling bananas door to door. I bought half a dozen with a €50 note I had in my back pocket. He smiled at me and asked how old I was. I said, “I am but fifteen summers old, good sir”. Then the dog jumped on my face and woke me up.</p><p>I tried to tell my mother about my dream, but she refused to listen. She said, “There is only one thing more deadly boring than listening to other people's dreams, and that's listening to other people's problems”.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 8th</strong>
</p><p>Think I might pop round to Nana's this evening. I don't have much on.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 9th</strong>
</p><p>Last night Russell Harty and I were rowing across the Atlantic. I told him that I was scared of boats, but he assured me that I was safe in his capable hands. Then Russell fell overboard and ended up in an underwater cavern. I swam into the cavern and joined Russell, it was quite cosy. We drank Baileys from a shoe, then swam back to the boat, where we found David Bowie teaching Vince how to play guitar one handed.</p><p>I told my father every detail of the dream (what Russell was wearing etc), but I could tell he wasn't really interested. Now I know why people pay to go to psychiatrists. They are the only ones who will listen.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 10th</strong>
</p><p>The worst thing about rehearsals being on Thursday evenings is that I can't watch <em>Top of the Pops</em> with Vince. Level 42 is on tonight and I'll miss it. Danny Thompson says it's not worth watching anyway, unless Motorhead or Thin Lizzy are on.</p><p>Danny doesn't realise that Vince makes watching it a lot of fun. He makes special costumes to wear, and we dance around the Braithwaites' lounge together when a good song comes on.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 11th</strong>
</p><p>I'm considering taking the day off school on Monday. I can't stand being the only kid in my class who doesn't come into the classroom with a fistful of garish cards, and a self-congratulatory smile. I know I'll get a Valentine's card from Vince, but he has to get me one, so it's not the same.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 12th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Lincoln's Birthday (USA)</em>
</p><p>No Russell this morning, so I had to make do with going into town with Vince. I bought the new issue of <em>Kerrang!</em> while Vince was in Topshop. While we were having our usual coffee break, I confessed to Vince how I felt about Russell, reminding him that he also had an attraction to older men.</p><p>He said, “I meant older like twenty or something, not old enough to be your dad!”.</p><p>Then he told me that I was probably in with a chance with Russell Harty, as he likes younger men. It was all over the papers how he picks up rent boys.</p><p>I can't think in which papers Vince would have read such sordid rumours. Ivan and Tania only subscribe to very intellectual publications.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 13th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Sixth after Epiphany. New Moon</em>
</p><p>Rosie made the preparation of Sunday dinner very difficult. She kept crawling on the floor and getting in my way, making loud noise that she thinks is talking, but is really just yammering.</p><p>My parents came home from the pub in bad moods. It seems my mother caused them to lose the pub's darts match with an ill-judged throw that accidentally hit a fellow patron in the neck, so she was barred. Now they have to find another pub to go to on Sundays.</p><p>Why does every meal I make end up being ruined for one reason or another?</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 14th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>St Valentine's Day</em>
</p><p>Received four cards: one from Vince, one from Nana, one from my mother, and one from Rosie. I confess to feeling disappointed that nobody else is interested in me. I have no desire to be untrue to Vince, but it would be nice to know I am attractive to more people than just Vince and my female relatives. Vince received more than a dozen cards, mostly from girls, but some of the anonymous ones had quite masculine-looking handwriting.</p><p>I gave Vince a Cupid card and a box of Cadbury Roses. Vince gave me a card he made himself. The picture was a cartoon of us holding hands while we wrote lines in Bainbridge's office. He gave me a bunch of daffodils from their garden, he said he grew them himself.</p><p>I looked up daffodils in Nana's little book, <em>The Secret Language of Flowers</em>. They mean, <em>Your feelings are not returned</em>. I felt a bit upset, but Vince probably doesn't have the same book. I put the flowers in a vase and tried not to feel they were a symbol of doomed love.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 15th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Shrove Tuesday</em>
</p><p>I invited Vince round for breakfast, but my mother was too busy with Rosie to make pancakes so Vince and I had a go making them ourselves. They tasted really good when we put lots of sugar on them. I don't know why my father went so mad, we cleaned it all up afterwards.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 16th</strong>
</p><p>I asked my father tonight if he could give me a lift to school in the mornings. I'm tired out after walking a mile there, carrying a heavy bag.</p><p>My father said, “When I were a lad, I used to walk four miles to school and four miles back, through wind, rain, snow, hail, and broiling sun and fog”.</p><p>I said sarcastically (though wittily), “What strange climatic conditions prevailed in Yorkshire in the nineteen-fifties!”.</p><p>My father said, “Weather <em>was</em> weather in those days. <em>You</em> wouldn't know proper weather if it came up and smashed you in the face”.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 17th</strong>
</p><p>Danny Thompson urged me to practice more between rehearsals, he said my technique is sloppy. I explained that I hadn't practised the bass for months, since my baby sister was born last May, and I'd got a bit rusty.</p><p>He told me to do finger exercises unplugged then, or turn the amp down really low, or do my practice before Rosie's bedtime. “Do <em>something</em>, Howard, because we're never going to get anywhere with a bassist who only plays once a week!”.</p><p>I never thought of any of these things. Perhaps I <em>have</em> been a bit slack. I will try to do better.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 18th</strong>
</p><p>Alan Elliot brought me a letter today from Hamilton Cork – the man in Wolverhampton who recognises my writing talent.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Howard Moon,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thank you for submitting the first page of your romance novel, “Longing for Warrington”, to Cork Press. It is fresh and original, and something I feel sure readers of this genre would be eager to enjoy. How exciting to receive even this small sample from a promising new author!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For a small consideration of €250, I would be happy to publish 5000 copies of your novel once complete, with the understanding that you would pay the costs of pulping any unsold copies, or agree to buy them yourself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Make your cheque out to Cork Press Pty. Ltd., and send it to me c/o:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Dickens Motel</em>
  <br/>
  <em>19 Manderville Fold</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Wolverhampton</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hamilton Cork, Esq.</em>
</p><p>My father refused to give me the money after reading the first page of <em>Longing for Warrington</em>! He said, “I've read some rubbish in my life, but this …”.</p><p>I will have the letter framed, as a record of the acceptance of my first novel.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 19th</strong>
</p><p>Lester Corncrake rang to ask why I hadn't been around. I said I'd been too busy.</p><p>Lester said, “Yes, too busy to visit a lonely old widower”.</p><p>I promised to go round after dinner tomorrow. Lester said, “Dinner? What is dinner?”.</p><p>I said, “You remember, Lester. It's meat and three veg with gravy and stuff”.</p><p>Lester said it was so long since he ate a proper meal that his vocabulary was suffering.</p><p>I asked him round for dinner tomorrow, and said my father would give him a lift. But when I told my parents they went mad. They said they were going to view some <em>properties</em> tomorrow, and were planning to get a Chinese take-away.</p><p>Properties! Why didn't they consult me? After all, it is my O Level year, and it is most important that I suffer no violent change, trauma, or neurosis.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 20th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>First in Lent. Moon's First Quarter</em>
</p><p>Spent this afternoon reading <em>Hear Me Talkin' to Ya, The Story of Jazz as Told by the Men Who Made It</em> out loud to Lester. I think he enjoyed it, except that he disagreed with nearly everyone as to what really happened in the jazz world. He kept saying that the authors should have interviewed him for the book.</p><p>At 7 pm Lester's Age Concern volunteer turned up to take Lester to the pub. He is a thin, nervous-looking man called Wesley. Sabre growled and bared his fangs when Wesley came into the room. Lester said, “Don't make any sudden moves, Wesley. Sabre's bite is worse than his bark”.</p><p>I couldn't resist showing off by throwing Sabre about the room and tickling his belly. I even did my party trick of putting my head in Sabre's mouth. Not for long though. His breath stinks.</p><p>After Wesley and Lester left, I tidied up a bit. I found one of Queenie's nighties under Lester's pillow. Funny to think that old people can be sentimental.</p><p>
  <strong>Monday 21st</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>President's Day (USA)</em>
</p><p>Went round to Nana's after school to have tea. She had made scones, and put the kettle on as soon as I arrived. She didn't ask after my parents, only Rosie.</p><p>Nana said Lester Corncrake has been thrown out of the Evergreens because of his bad behaviour on their last coach trip to Cleethorpes. She said that Lester was smoking herbal cigarettes which made Mrs Harriman have a funny turn, so she needed to have her corsets loosened. Then he started telling them all a dirty story about Blind Lemon Jefferson and his urinary tract infection.</p><p>Nana said two pensioners have passed on since the outing. She blames Lester and said, “He as good as murdered them”. But I think it is more likely they died of the cold and damp in Lincolnshire. Nana said it was very foggy all day.</p><p>I said Lester is not so bad when you get to know him. She said she didn't understand why the Good Lord took my poor grandfather and left scum like Corncrake. Then her lips went tight and she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, so I left.</p><p>
  <strong>Tuesday 22nd</strong>
</p><p>The first cracks in the new marital alliance appeared today: an argument about money. It seems that my parents can't afford to buy any of the houses they liked, only ones they didn't that are worse than the house we currently live in. Hopefully this will put them off the idea of moving.</p><p>
  <strong>Wednesday 23rd</strong>
</p><p>Took Rosie for a casual walk in the pram after school and casually called round at Nana's. She looked really pleased to see Rosie, and gave her a biscuit. She tried to teach Rosie manners at the tea table, but Rosie still just sucks and dribbles on biscuits when she eats.</p><p>We didn't stay long. I didn't tell my parents we had been either. It was only a casual visit.</p><p>
  <strong>Thursday 24th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>St Matthias' Day</em>
</p><p>There was a bit of unpleasantness at rehearsal tonight. I was asking for a second sound check, as I couldn't hear myself at all, when Nobby Stubbman suddenly said, “Oi, in't you the poof that tried to turn everyone at your school queer? I heard about you”.</p><p>I said that I'd tried to form a Gay Club at school, but there was no evangelism involved, and we'd been closed down anyway.</p><p>“Playing with a bloody poofter now”, Nobby grumbled ominously.</p><p>“Got a problem with Howard being gay?”, asked Danny Thompson. “Because anyone that does can get out now. We're here to play hard and fast, not to bitch and gossip about who's sleeping with who like a pack of bloody girls, alright?”.</p><p>Nobby and Badger gave each other a few looks, but neither of them left, and in the end we went back to practising Judas Priest's <em>You've Got Another Thing Coming</em>.</p><p>
  <strong>Friday 25th</strong>
</p><p>I have just finished reading <em>Dance On My Grave</em> by Aidan Chambers. It is about two teenage boys from Southend who are in love, and it is the most brilliant, weirdest, funniest, most tragic book I have ever read. I laughed and cried, stayed up for hours reading it, and phoned both Vince and Leroy to tell them they had to read it as well. I think everyone should read this book. Bainbridge should be forced to read it.</p><p>
  <strong>Saturday 26th</strong>
</p><p>Vince and I were sitting in my bedroom talking this afternoon when Leroy and Joey came round. Leroy is still very bitter about Gay Club being closed down. He said we should at least write to some gay organisations and have pamphlets sent out to us, that we could use as an unofficial information pack if we happen to be contacted by any other gay pupils.</p><p>Vince said we could always call the Gay Switchboard and ask for help – he said Tania has the number somewhere. I said I would ask my Auntie Susan if she knows anywhere else we could try.</p><p>Leroy looked moody, and said, “We shouldn't have to do all this by ourselves. Information should be available at school”. I said that wouldn't happen as long as Bainbridge is in charge.</p><p>
  <strong>Sunday 27th</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Second in Lent. Full Moon</em>
</p><p>I went to have Sunday dinner with Nana, so my parents can organise their own cooking/babysitting arrangements for once. Afterwards we made treacle toffee together, just like when I was little.</p><p>Nana is still not speaking to my parents. She has bought a budgie instead, called Gilbert, after her favourite singer, Gilbert O'Sullivan. She said, “This little bird has given me more companionship than my whole family put together, and what's more, he listens and doesn't answer back”.</p><p>I didn't tell her my parents are thinking of moving. A further shock could kill her. She said that after Grandpa died, all her hair fell out and hasn't grown back. That's why she's been wearing head scarves ever since, even indoors.</p><p>
  <b>Monday 28<sup>th</sup></b>
</p><p>My father is refusing to talk to Tania, who is a marriage guidance counsellor. I expect he is scared of being told everything is his fault after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Russell Harty" was on at 8.35 pm on Tuesday nights on BBC Two; it was a chat/variety show. I just made up David Bowie being on that evening, although he was a guest some time in 1983.</p><p>Frederic Russell Harty (1934-1988), a television presenter born in Lancashire. He was quite good-looking and his show was considered rather camp. I think Howard might be slightly deluded about his quicksilver wit, although he could be amusing and entertaining.</p><p>The Director-General of the BBC at this time was Alasdair Milne (1930-2013). He was forced out of the position in 1987 by the Thatcher government, in the belief he was too left-wing.</p><p>Orange Margaret's set list contains 1970s works by Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and Deep Purple – the holy trinity of British hard rock/metal. The band agrees to add Jimi Hendrix, because his hard rock funk music has elements of proto-metal.   </p><p>“Top of the Pops” was on at 7.30 pm on Thursday evenings on BBC One. Level 42 really did appear on this date, performing “The Chinese Way”. Motorhead and Thin Lizzy had appeared on the show the previous year – it seems as if Danny only watches the show on the rare occasions a heavy metal band appears live.</p><p>The tabloids went after Russell Harty when he was discovered to be gay, which is where Vince would have read about the rent boys. Vince is correct that Harty liked younger men – his partner for the last five years of his life was the Irish novelist Jamie O'Neill (born 1962), only five years older than Howard (Harty is actually older than Howard's father, George). </p><p>Harty died of kidney disease, which the papers gleefully reported as AIDS-related – I don't know for sure if this was correct, but he is sometimes listed amongst celebrities who died of AIDS. His partner O'Neill was thrown out of the house by Harty's family, as their relationship had no legal standing, and he became homeless for a time.</p><p>Unfortunately, Howard refers to his nana's old book of Victorian floriography to decipher Vince's thoughtful gift. They were probably associated with Narcissus from Greek myth, who rejected all his admirers in order to gaze at his own reflection (to be fair, Howard does come across as quite self-absorbed). These days, daffodils are usually associated with hope, joy, and new beginnings. </p><p>Cleethorpes is a “seaside “ tourist town in north Lincolnshire, about 90 minutes drive from Leeds (the beach is actually part of the estuary of the River Humber, so not strictly on the sea). The weather can be chilly and damp, especially in winter. </p><p>Blind Lemon Jefferson (1893-1929), American blues and gospel singer. The dirty joke about him is based on the show, where he became Hot Wee-Wee Jefferson, The Cystitis Kid.  </p><p>The joke with the prejudiced Nobby and Badger is that they are in the middle of playing a song by Judas Priest, whose lead singer, Rob Halford (born 1951), is gay. They don't know it yet, because Halford didn't come out publicly until 1998.</p><p>Howard reads “Dance On My Grave” by British author Aidan Chambers, a 1982 postmodern YA novel about the relationship between two teenage boys. Even though it has the typical Tragic Dead Gay trope, the novel is both comedic and gay-positive beyond its time, and there is utterly zero angst or self-doubt about being same-sex attracted in the book. Howard is finally finding a couple of gay-friendly novels for young people. </p><p>Howards reads to Lester from “Hear Me Talkin' to Ya, The Story of Jazz as Told by the Men Who Made It”, a 1951 book by Nat Shapiro and Nat Hentoff, based on interviews with jazz stars. He mentions American author and intellectual Gore Vidal, Howard seems to be a fan. Howard references The Old Man of the Sea from the Voyages of Sinbad the Sailor in “The Arabian Nights”. </p><p>The London Lesbian and Gay Switchboard was founded in 1974, providing help and information to London's Gay Community. It's now called Switchboard (UK). I hope they would still send info to Leroy, even though he's in Leeds. It tears me up that the naturally cheerful and carefree Leroy has become justifiably angry and bitter in the face of homophobia.</p><p>Raymond “Gilbert” O'Sullivan (born 1946), Irish singer of such 1970s easy-listening hits as “Alone Again” and “Clair”. </p><p>I am totally on George's side – getting marriage counselling from your wife's friend doesn't sound like a good idea. Apart from the conflict of interest, Tania's already made it clear she thinks men are emotional morons.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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